


the first rule of the jungle is

by tinyegg



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington Needs a Nap, because the parallels are too juicy for me to resist, billy is in constant denial of his gay panic, but also Asshole! King Steve, king steve takes back the school, steve and billy partnered for a lord of the flies project, steve harrington has big dick energy but also tired single mother energy, tommy and carol have actual personalities, we suffer through slow burn like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyegg/pseuds/tinyegg
Summary: “Hate to break it to you, Harrington,” Billy grins, all teeth, like a shark smelling blood in the water. “But you’re notkinganymore.”Steve stares back at him coolly. “Think you’re the only one who can stage a coup?”The night the Gate is closed, Steve goes to Tommy H.'s house. In the aftermath, he reclaims his crown, adopts a pack of eighth-graders, fights Billy Hargrove(again)and somehow, finds himself on the path to understanding the wordfamily.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & The Party, Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington & Carol Perkins
Comments: 60
Kudos: 195





	1. we'll make a fire, keep it burning

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was written out of my own need for
> 
> a) quarantine escapism!
> 
> b) king!steve making a comeback
> 
> because I'm tired of seeing Steve played as the sad, washed-up popular guy who's only job now is to chauffeur around a bunch of kids. I mean, do we really believe that a guy petty enough to _~dramatically~ break Jonathan's camera in front of him_ would just roll over for Billy when he comes after his crown, no matter how broken up he is at the prospect of inter-dimensional monsters? Nah.
> 
> Therefore instead of searching around for the fic I want, I make the only logical decision which is to commit myself to a (probably) 50k, slow burn, alternating pov fic about Billy and Steve dancing around each other like the stupid blind idiots they are.
> 
> Note: i call this the _King Steve Takes Back the School all while being a single mother of five_ fic. also known as the _Tommy and Carol Actually Care About Steve because i feel uncomfortable having one-dimensional characters in the ST universe so i made up backstories for them_ fic. totally self-indulgent but i had a ton of fun writing this so maybe you'll have fun reading it too. enjoy! 
> 
> *[EDITED: cut out some bits from ch. 1 to make chapter length more even]

“You sure about this, Harrington?” The Chief asks gruffly, cutting through the painkiller-haze Steve found himself drifting in. “I already told you, I don’t mind you staying over at the cabin the next few nights. El won't mind either, she’ll help take care of you.” 

It really is nice of him to offer. Too bad Steve’s not so keen on spending his next few days with a kid who _literally_ _has the ability to explode his mind_ if she throws a tantrum with him in the line of fire, even if she did save their collective asses tonight. He’s pretty sure the worry will kill him even if the head injury doesn’t. 

“Didn’t take you for a town gossip.” Steve jokes halfheartedly. “Thanks Chief, but I’m sure.” 

“Okay then, kid. Go on, get out.” The Chief sighs, shooing him onward. 

Steve gets out, sort of grateful that he didn’t offer to walk him to the door three metres away like some sort of injured baby deer. The gratitude fades when he doesn’t hear the tell-tale rumble of the engine. The Chief is still waiting behind him, watching to see if he goes in. 

Steve sighs, a little resentful. So this is his life now — even the divorced Chief of Police who has the socio-emotional intelligence of a desert cactus and lives in a _secret cabin in the woods_ thinks he has no friends. He rings the doorbell. It takes a while to get a response but soon after there’s a smattering of noise from inside the house. A muffled shout for _Son get the door!_ and pounding of feet down the stairs before —

The door opens. 

Tommy, standing in his Hawkins ’83 basketball tee and pyjama bottoms, blinks blearily. As the hazy veil of sleep slips away from his eyes, he rubs his eyes as if he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing — Steve, face bloodied and bandaged to hell, standing on his doorstep while the Chief of Police eyes them warily a few feet away — then blanches. 

For a moment, Steve finally feels a pinprick of uncertainty.

The moment passes.

_“Jesus Christ_.” Tommy hisses. “Get _in_ you idiot. My mom’ll help.” 

Steve lets out a breath, a silent _whoosh_ of air. He lets himself get hauled into the Hagan living room, not quite leaning all his weight on Tommy, but letting his shoulder press lightly against the other boy’s in the way he knows conveys his quiet gratitude. 

Tommy sits him down on the couch. 

“Now Harrington, are you going to explain why you’ve appeared on my porch looking like you fought a goddamn _bear?_ ” Not waiting for him to respond, Tommy yells in the direction of the stairs. “ _MOM!”_

A bear. _Hah_ , he would never be so lucky. 

“The doctor said I need someone to check on me every few hours because of the, y’know —“ He waves lazily in the direction of his head. “— head injury.” 

Tommy stares at him for a moment. Steve knows that he knows Steve ducked the actual question. With effort, Tommy seems to make a decision not to push it. _Good ‘ol Tommy._ Instead, he says:

“So, what, you come to me after calling me an asshole and avoiding me for the past few months?” But there’s no real bite in it. Steve knows because if Tommy had wanted it to hurt, he would have asked _Why not Nancy?_

So Steve gives him the simple answer. “You know why I came here.” 

The answer is a lot of things. The warm, orange glow of the living room lights — that they don’t turn off at night even though it burns through the utilities bill, because little Clara is afraid of the dark and won’t get herself water at night without them. The lived-in feeling of the Hagan household, small but _homely_ like it’s actually occupied by more than one person.  
  
Because that’s how it is between childhood friends in a small town. You can’t wipe out eighteen years of existing in the same space, having all your first experiences together — first day of kindergarten, first trick-or-treating night, first sleepover, first party, first drink, first cigarette, first girlfriend. They’ve fought many times before and always ended up glued at the hip again by the end of the week. Of course, Steve had never called Tommy and his girlfriend assholes before and then proceeded to ignore them for months on end but… details.  
  
“ _Steve_ , oh my goodness!” Steve looks up to see Candace Hagan rushing to him at full speed to sweep him up into a tight hug, still smelling like vanilla and fresh linen, as if nothing’s changed since he saw her last, months ago.  


She finally lets him draw back from the hug a full ten seconds later. Leaning back, he gives her a half-hearted grin. “Hey, Mrs Hagan.”  
  
“Don’t _Hey Mrs Hagan_ me, Steve.” She tuts at him disapprovingly with the weariness of a woman who has been dealing with his shit since he was six. “What sort of trouble have you gotten into this time?” 

Tommy cuts in to save him from answering. “He’s got some kind of head injury. Doctor said he’d need someone to check on him every few hours, make sure he doesn’t die in his sleep or whatever. Guess that poor sap’s me.”  
  
Candace gives him her Patented Look of Motherly Disappointment, to which Tommy scowls. 

“I was just kidding!” he protests. She ignores him.  
  
“Tommy, you _will_ look after Steve tonight and check on him as prescribed, _do you hear me_? I don’t want any complaints when you should be helping your friend.” Candace says sternly, mouth pressed in a firm line.

Tommy holds up his hands in his defence, freckled skin flushing a little. “Geez, alright! I was gonna do it anyway, don’t have to tell me…” He grumbles, but is already reaching for the blankets and pillows stowed away in the cupboard nearby. They'd always kept an extra set of those around for Steve. The sight of it makes his chest feel tight — the fact that they hadn't thought to get rid of it, even though he's pretty sure everyone knows about his and Tommy's big fight. Tommy dumps the gathered pillows and blankets on the floor next to Steve's couch.  
  
Only then does Candace give him an approving smile and leave to get Steve a glass of water from the kitchen. Following that, she tells them both she’s going to bed, but not before pressing a gentle kiss on Steve’s forehead, careful not to graze any of his cuts. It makes him smile. Candace Hagan has always treated him like her own son. If anything made him regret his spat with Tommy, it would be the fact that he’d lost more than one dickhead of a friend that day.  
  
Tommy makes a move like it wants to turn off the lights but Steve stops him, giving him a meaningful look. Doesn’t know what Tommy makes of it — whether he thinks Steve just happens to remember Clara’s fear of the dark or if Steve’s just being a pussy, jumping at monsters in the shadows — but he doesn’t really care.  
  
After a lulling silence, twenty minutes of them both lying stock-still pretending to sleep, Tommy speaks up.  
  
“I let you off the hook earlier because you already look like complete shit but…” Tommy pauses like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You’ve got to tell me what happened man. I know you wouldn’t come here unless some shit went down.”  
  
Steve rolls over in the couch, looking down at Tommy, who’s scowling up at him like he’s pissed off. Pissed off, but not quite. The thing about Tommy is that you have to learn his scowls because scowls in response to _any_ emotion that isn’t happiness. If he’s confused, threatened, angry…  
  
Or if he’s hurt.  
  
Yeah, Steve recognises that scowl. He remembers it with vivid clarity from the time Tommy and Carol had a particularly bad spat in sophomore year and Carol had started hanging around a senior from the baseball team. Not quite cheating, but enough to start rumours. _What a fucking bitch_ , Tommy had scowled, while his hands fumbled with the locker combination Carol had always remembered for him. Now Steve feels like he should’ve seen this scowl coming, after months of anger and hurt had festered into a slow-broiling resentment between them. 

“Alright. S’only fair.”  
  
Another pause, like Tommy’s surprised he agreed so readily. Steve’s surprised himself. It’s not like Tommy H. is a beacon of trustworthiness that he wants to spill his guts to but… he figures he owes him _something_ for turning up like death on his doorstep this late at night and expecting his help. 

“Okay.” Tommy sits up, propping his head on one elbow. “Who the fuck beat you up so badly? Haven’t seen you get creamed like that since you lost to crazy weirdo Byers.”  
  
There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence. Steve has this irrational urge to defend Byers — but he’s not sure if it’s to say _Jonathan isn’t a crazy weirdo_ or _shut up, Byers fights like a psycho and I didn’t_ lose, _the police came._ So instead, he settles for: “Your new best friend.”  
  
He sees the time it takes Tommy to process that, really chew on it. He thinks, maybe he shouldn’t feel that twinge of satisfaction that Tommy hadn’t immediately thought of Billy when he’d said it.  
  
Tommy recoils, sucking in a breath. “ _Shit.”  
  
_ He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Steve. “Yeah,” he says, completely ineffectual at filling the sudden silence between them.  
  
He’s starting to regret saying anything at all. Now that the fact is out in the open, it feels ugly, especially in the warm light and comfort of the Hagan living room. It brings out the ugliness between them, months of Steve ignoring every attempt at an olive branch (read: invitations to Tina’s parties and team drinks at the quarry) and Tommy finally turning on his heel to stand beside the new King of Hawkins High.  
  
But then, with characteristic _Tommy-ness_ , Tommy lays back down and says, sighing, “Always knew he was a bit of a psycho.”  
  
Steve can’t help it. He snorts. He’d thought he was above petty high school drama but he must not be because the familiar words roll out of his mouth, easy as slipping on an old jumper. “What clued you in, dipshit?”  
  
Tommy takes some time to reply, like he’s actually mulling it over. Then: “Definitely the tongue thing. Like _man_ , can’t he keep it inside his mouth?”  
  
Steve laughs, a little delighted. He’d thought he’d been the only one disturbed by Billy’s _tongue thing_. “He cracked a plate over my head.” He didn’t think he’d be laughing off his near-death _the day of it occurring_ , but Tommy’s always been the kind of friend that makes bad shit worth experiencing for all the reaction he gives.  
  
As expected, Tommy’s face splits into a grin. “ _Damn_ , did he really?” he whistles. “Explains the bandages then. I swear you’ve got more on your face than we have toilet roll in the house right now.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes, but is thankful for Tommy’s familiar brand of dickishness. He slips right back into their old routine, easy as breathing. “Yeah well, explains why you always smell like shit. Wipe your ass next time.”  
  
They let another silence unfold. A few minutes tick by.  
  
“You’re still going to be Hargrove’s right-hand man come tomorrow though, right?” Steve asks, not really meaning anything by it. He knows Tommy well enough to know the answer.  
  
“‘Course.” Tommy says, blunt as ever. “M’not _suicidal_. Can’t believe you even have to ask that considering you’re the one whose face he beat into a bloody pulp.”  
  
Steve’s about to leave it be but unexpectedly, Tommy continues. He gives Steve a sly grin. “But if you ever decide to stop moping after Wheeler like a pathetic piece of shit and want to make a comeback, let me know.” He says it like a taunt but it sounds a lot like _I’ll back you_.  
  
Steve snorts. “I’ll keep that in mind, dickhead.” Knows it sounds a lot like _Thank you_.  
  
Satisfied, Tommy puts his head back down and rolls over, signalling the end of their conversation. Steve rests his head against the arm of the couch, preparing himself for the long night ahead. He knows sleep won’t come easy tonight, might not ever come again.  
  
He knows, objectively, that this conversation isn’t a fix-it-all. It’s at most a band-aid slapped carelessly on top of a festering wound that’s been hurt for months. Despite what it feels like, they’re not friends. What he and Tommy have right now, in the soft light of his living room, enclosed by memories of their shared childhood will be starkly different in the dirty off-white hallways of Hawkins High, surrounded by the piercing gazes that are always, always watching.  
  
 _Sycophant_ , Nancy had called Tommy once.  
  
 _Steve had always thought of him more of a survivalist._  
  
It’s a dog eat dog world out there, he thinks. Law of the jungle, and all that. After all he’s seen and done, facing down literal monsters armed only with a nail-studded baseball bat, he can’t really find fault with that.  
  
Still, he lets himself be comforted by the fact that him and Tommy don’t have to be friends to have each other’s backs.  
  


** —  **

**  
**Darkness. Consciousness doesn’t come to him slow and gentle, lifting him up from the dark depths of sleep like arising from a nap.  
  
It comes at him like a _motherfucking slap in the face.  
  
_ The instant he startles awake, he already _regrets_ it because the pounding in his head and soreness in all his limbs becomes immediately apparent and also impossible to ignore. He’s already angry and he doesn’t know why. But as he raises a hand to scrub at his face, he spots the dried, crusted-up blood on his knuckles and the memories start trickling in. Flashes of the night before he got knocked out.  
  
 _Harrington. Dark brown eyes filled with cool contempt. Two fingers, prodding his chest.  
  
The steady thump thump thump of blood pumping in his veins. The way his fingers twitched, already itching with the violence crackling at his fingertips. Electricity, he remembers thinking, sure as anything. _

_And best of all —_ finally _, Steve’s eyes alight with barely-contained fury as he comes at him swinging, every hit meaner and harder, like he finally understands that this isn’t a performance, it’s a_ fight _.  
_

In the end, he’d gone down easy. It’d been over for him the second Billy cracked that plate over his head — he’d spent the rest of the fight thrashing on the ground, hands braced over his head as if expecting a second _smash_. Pathetic really. Even more pathetic was the way his eyes had widened in minute disbelief in the split-second before the plate had made contact with his head. As if he couldn’t believe that Billy wasn’t playing by the rules — the rules he’d made in his own head.  
  
Billy scoffs a little to himself, but the noise feels lodged in his throat. It’s throbbing, sore like he’s got something wedged in it and then he remembers — the pinprick of the needle, sinking into his skin. _Maxine,_ that sneaky bitch, looking at him with eyes wide with terror and fury swirling together as she watches him fall to the ground, vision blurring.  
  
Billy swallows. He remembers why he’s angry.  
  
He hauls himself to a sitting position, blinking rapidly to clear the dark spots whirling in and out of his vision. He casts a searching gaze around. There’s paper strewn all over the floor and walls, filled with manic scribbles of varying colours like some deranged Picasso had taken up shop in this family’s home. _Yup, still in the creepy Byers_ place. There’s an obsessive quality to the drawings that makes Billy uncomfortable if he looks at them too long, so he shifts his attention to something else. 

  
He gets up, barely avoids falling over when the vertigo hits him like a train and stumbles towards the door. He unlatches it and exits the cold, empty house, not bothering to shut the door behind him. _Not like anyone would rob this shithole anyway._ The sight that greets him hits him like a splash of cold water to the face.  
  
Fully awake now, he steps onto the driveway, mouth parting slightly in incredulous disbelief. The very _empty_ driveway, where his blue Camaro had been parked. He comes to a stop right where the driveway meets the road.  
  
“Jesus.” He fumbles in his jean pocket for a cigarette, snarling when he comes up empty. He whirls around, gets another eyeful of _nothing_ in the driveway and realises he’s trembling, just a little. “Jesus _fuck_ , Maxine.” _Or is it Harrington? Probably both of them, driving off in his Camaro, having a laugh with the other weird nerds at how they’d just stolen Billy Hargrove’s car while he was knocked unconsciousness by his little sister.  
_

He wants to hit something. _God,_ he really wants to hit something. But there’s nothing for it. He has no idea what time it is but it doesn’t seem like any unfortunate sucker is going to wander by for him to pick a fight with. The streets are desolate and Billy’s screams of frustration are effortlessly snuffed out by the ringing silence around him.  
  
There’s nothing for it. He heads home.  
  
  
  
About thirty minutes of wandering in what he vaguely thinks is the right direction, he hears the tell-tale rumble of an engine. Despite his exhaustion, he forces himself to stand straighter, shoulders back and schools his face into something presentable.

If he’s lucky and it’s a chick, he might even be able to catch a ride. Can’t be helped about the blood, but there are few things Billy can’t get from a chick with a charming smile and a few shirt buttons popped open.  
  
But as the approaching headlights from behind grow closer, he realises he’s made a huge mistake. For one small, stupid moment, he considers booking it out of there, to hell with the consequences. By the time he comes to the conclusion that no amount of working out will give him the strength to outrun a _car,_ it’s already pulled up next to him with ease and Jim Hopper sticks his head out of the car.  
  
“Funny thing,” Hopper says mildly. “I just sent a young man to the E.R. to get his head bandaged because he almost got a concussion from a fight. Then, I find _you_ out here wandering in the dark with blood all over your face.”  
  
It’s too late to do anything. Billy’s already fucked. So he responds by stretching his lips into a wide grin, all teeth. “Funny thing.”

“You gonna make me do this song and dance? Or you want to just get in the goddamn car.” Hopper drops the pretence of mildness, jerking a thumb in the passenger seat.  
  
Billy considers his options. Get in the car, get driven to the station, maybe get slammed with a court charge if Harrington’s big-shot lawyer gets involved. Or worse, Hopper brings him _home_ and tells Neil his son got into a fight and _lost._ Fucked.  
  
Or he runs. And continues wandering because he never bothered to learn where everything was in this tiny town, figured he would eventually just _know_. After which Hopper — who probably knows Billy’s father and home address — will drive to his home anyway and tell Neil his son got into a fight and lost. This is the exact reason why he hates small towns, where the cops know too much about and give way too many shits about every citizen in this goddamn _small_ town. Also fucked.  
  
Without a word, Billy gets into the passenger seat.

Then tries very hard not to startle like a cornered animal when Hopper claps a hand on his shoulder without warning. _Goddammit_ , he grits his teeth. He shakes out his arms and shoulders loosely, trying to disguise the little _jerk_ he’d given when Hopper made contact. 

“Good man.” Hopper says, all mild again, all standard small-time cop. But his eyes are serious, lingering a moment longer on Billy than’s comfortable with. Fighting the urge to squirm, Billy glares back. 

Finally, Hopper lets out a soft _hmm_ and turns back to the wheel. He asks for his address as if he doesn’t already know the Hargrove residence and Billy gives it without resistance. Hopper snorts and Billy wonders why until Hopper turns the steering in a U-turn, driving in the complete opposite direction Billy had been walking in. Not even ten minutes later, they’re already pulling into the Hargrove driveway. Thinking of the thirty minutes he’d spent clutching the sides of his arms for warmth and wandering down the dark roads, he feels small and a little ridiculous.  His fingers itch for a cigarette.  
  
His street is quiet and all the lights in the house are switched off. It feels like the whole town is holding its breath tonight, hushed and shrouded in the darkness. 

For a brief, glorious second, the dark windows give him hope that everyone might actually be asleep. But as Billy steps out of the car, the door swings open and Neil is standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed, eyes already narrowed at his disappointment of a son as he makes his grand return home.  
  
Yeah, no, it’s just Billy holding his breath. The rest of the town is tucked into their beds, snoring soundly, unaware of the crackling storm looming overhead.  
  
“Officer.” Neil goes for a polite smile, but it looks stiff on his face. His eyes are determinedly avoiding Billy’s, instead trained on Hopper as he makes his way toward them. He holds out a hand for Hopper to shake.  
  
“Mr Hargrove, I presume.” Hopper nods but doesn’t take the hand. There’s a silent beat before Neil lets the hand drop. His smile, already stiff, grows sharp at the corners. 

“I don’t mean to pry into police business,” Neil says, looking a lot like he’s picking out every word with caution. Billy clenches his fists. This whole dance makes him sick. He wants Hopper to leave. He’s waiting for the moment the polite smile drops off Neil’s face and he’ll finally, _finally_ turn to Billy and slam him into a cupboard, or a desk maybe, get all up in his face the way he knows Billy hates. The hot stink of his breath. The sharp sting of a slap as he yells at him, over and over again, _when will he LEARN, when will he act like a MAN, when will he stop being such a fucking disappointment to the family, to the Hargrove name…_ maybe then, after all the pain and the yelling, Billy will finally get the chance to take a fucking shower, wash off all the dirt and grime of the night. _  
  
_Billy slows his thoughts as he realises Hopper hasn’t yet responded. It’s clearly a prompt, like _I don’t mean to pry into police business, so would you please let me pry into police business?_ But Hopper doesn’t rise to it. Instead, he watches with morbid fascination as Hopper calmly looks at his father, not saying a word. A muscle twitches in Neil’s jaw. Suddenly, he swings his gaze towards Billy.  
  
Ah. So a change in tactic, then.

“Did you get into trouble with the law, son?” Neil says _son_ like a damnation. “You know what I’ve told you, what I’ve _been_ telling you all this time —“  


“Respect. And responsibility. Sir.” Billy says, eyes staring straight ahead, at a broken roof tile he’s fixated on, refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
“Don’t interrupt. And look at me when I am talking to you.” Neil sounds a lot like he wants to grab Billy’s face and force him to turn. He doesn’t have to. Billy turns anyway. Meeting Neil’s gaze is a cold shock to his system. It’s not the hot rage, barely contained under the veneer of polite smiles, he expected to see. It’s far worse, a chilling fury that means _weeks_ of being afraid to come home after school, of being around when Susan and Max aren’t —  
  
“Oh, it’s not like that at all, Mr Hargrove.” Hopper shocks all of them again with his mild tone, slightly coloured with surprise.  
  
Neil, with effort, seems to rein himself in. “No, no, Officer. It’s alright. I know what kind of boy I’m dealing with here and don’t worry, I am willing and _able_ to give him the discipline he needs.”

Plowing forward like Neil hadn’t even spoke, Hopper grabs hold of Billy’s shoulders and pulls him right in front of him, as if to present him. “Billy here,” Hopper says. “Broke up a fight that was going down near Cornwallis. Couple of drunk kids, nothing serious but he really helped our police department out there. You’ve got a good kid on your hands, Mr Hargrove. You should be proud.”  
  
Neil opens his mouth. Then closes it. For once, Billy is on the exact same page as he is. _What the hell is he doing_ , he thinks dazedly. He works to keep a lid on the confusion though, making sure Neil doesn’t see any of it. If Hopper is actually giving him an out here, he’d be stupid not to take it.  
  
“Is that so.” Neil says finally, sounding strangled. “Well, that’s great to hear Officer. Well, you’d better head back now. Wouldn’t want to keep you out here any longer.”  
  
At that, Hopper nods, puts his hat back on his head — _where did that come from? —_ and walks back to his car. But he doesn’t leave, not even as Neil puts an arm around Billy’s shoulder, all paternal-like, and steers him towards the house.  
  
Right before the door shuts, Billy turns and catches Hopper’s eye again. The same serious, lingering look like _Jim Hopper’s got all the answers and he’s watching you_. It makes Billy feel _seen_.Exposed. Vulnerable in a way that he didn’t know was possible.  
  
He _hates_ it.  
  
Once they’re inside, Billy half-expects a slap anyway. If it’s not for letting Max sneak out, it’ll be for giving the police department reason to recognise the Hargrove name.  
  
“Maxine got back at half past midnight.” Neil says, his tone non-confrontational but Billy cringes anyway and he knows Neil sees. “You should be taking care of your sister, not a bunch of hooligans, doing the police department’s jobs for them.”  
  
The silence that unfolds is prickling. Billy keeps every line of his body tense, but his eyes downcast, so he doesn’t look confrontational. The silence drags on too long and he honestly thinks he’s about to get hit when —  
  
“Dad. Mom wants to talk to you upstairs.”  
  
 _Maxine_. Billy’s gaze snaps upward and he sees her, hovering on the stairs. He expects a flood of his earlier rage to come rushing back but there’s nothing but emptiness in his chest. The long, cold walk back had drained most of his energy out of him and with it, his anger.

_She never calls him ‘Dad’_ , Billy thinks numbly.  
  
“I’ll be right there, Maxine.” Neil gives her his normal I’m-A-Caring-Father voice before turning back to Billy in a low tone. “Take a shower. And remember, you’re sending Maxine to school tomorrow. Don’t be late.”  
  
Billy feels all the breath go rushing out of him, his shoulders loosening like a marionette cut from its string. That can’t be it. That can’t be _it.  
  
_ As Neil and Maxine go up the stairs together, she casts him one last look, before giving him a single nod of acknowledgement. 

Later, after his shower, when he’s lying flat on the bed, he replays that expression on her face. She’d nodded at him like _you’re welcome_. Or _I protected you_. It’s so absurd he laughs, muffling the sound with a pillow.  
  
Protected from _what_? What does little Maxine know? She saw his dad get a little heated and thought she had to, what, swoop in and save him with a few well-placed words? Maxine, looking at him like she expects _gratitude_ for being his saviour, his only ally in this godforsaken household.

It’s so ridiculous he gnashes his teeth. She doesn’t know _anything._ Although maybe —  
  
He thinks back to the moment before the sting of the needle dragged the consciousness out of him. The moment where he’s falling, Max enlarging before his eyes, blurring, voice muffled like he’s sinking under waves at the beach.  
  
Neil. Max. Neil. Max. _Say you understand. Say it. SAY IT!  
  
_ Making him repeat it over and over. _I understand. Yes sir. YES SIR._  
  
— maybe she’s _learned_ something after all.  
  
He laughs again. It’s an ugly sound. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're here, thanks for reading to the end! to be honest, i've only recently gotten into stranger things and i don't think i have a strong grip on all the character voices yet so if you have any feedback on that/ what you'd like to see in the plot in general i'd love to hear it!! comments about the fic are always appreciated but also if you'd like to have a long discussion about random things in canon i'm down for that too lmao


	2. smoke on the mountain (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upon realising that I uploaded 5k words for the first chapter, I have made the executive decision to split all my chapters in half so that I won't fall behind my own uploading schedule (LOL) Uploads will be every 1-2 days for the first few chapters since I have it all planned out. Will get into a more regular schedule later on when I get used to writing this!
> 
> This chapter is mostly still set up but the plot will pick up chapter 3 and 4 onwards!

Steve is awoken by the doorbell ringing with an alarming ferocity. The chiming sound seems to penetrate _straight_ into his skull, rattling around there like a pinball machine. He groans. Takes a brief look around the house just in case someone might come to his rescue and _answer the damn door_.  
  
No such luck. Tommy’s already left for school and his parents are out for work. A voice inside his head that sounds an awful lot like Nancy goes _I can’t believe he didn’t wake me for school_ but he also recognises it would be a lot stranger if Tommy H. had _tried to get him to go_ _to school_. 

Cursing, he stumbles over to the door. He swings it open and he’s greeted by the sight of… nothing? Then —  
  
 _“Steve!”_  
  
He looks down, just in time to brace for impact as he’s tackled by a force at the charging speed of a small demogorgon. He winces, trying subtly to suck the air back into his lungs as the tiny arms around his waist somehow squeeze _harder._ Finally, he’s released from the death grip as the boy steps back.  
  
“You son-of-a-bitch.” Dustin Henderson grins up at him, part-chiding but mostly relieved. “I called your landline, like, _twenty_ times!” Dustin keeps talking, something about how he had to ask about the Harrington residence’s number, first from his mother, who then asked Karen Wheeler, who then asked Mrs Horowitz from Maple Street — but it all goes in one ear and out the other.

A pit of dread begins to unfurl in his stomach.

“I thought the gate thing was closed. By the girl with the mind powers?” Steve says numbly.  
  
“What?” Dustin halts in the middle of his tangent. “Yeah, it was?” 

Steve doesn’t follow. Panic starts to crawl down his throat, filling his chest with a cold, clammy feeling. “My bat — it’s still in the trunk. _Shit_. And my car isn’t here —

Realisation dawns on Dustin’s face. “What, _no_ , this isn’t about that! Why would you think that?”  
  
“Well, maybe because the last time you came calling for me, it was to help you find the monster you _raised_ , which, may I remind you, ate your _cat_ and also tried to kill all of us!” Steve huffs, trying to go for his pissed-off tone of voice but unable to disguise the naked _relief_ as the tension instantly drains from his body.

“Wow.” Dustin looks at him, with all the righteous indignation only a thirteen-year-old could muster. “Feed a _potential breakthrough in scientific discovery_ a few nougats _one time,_ and you brand a guy for life. Besides,” he says, with a bit off a haughty sniff. “D’art was a good boy, in the end.” 

Steve gives him a look that hopefully conveys all his incredulity at the ridiculousness of that statement, and also the pounding headache building at the back of his skull. “Okay…” he lets the words form slowly. “So, then, why are you looking for me?” 

Dustin gives him an equally incredulous look. “You got the shit beaten out of you last night. Max’s brother smashed a _plate_ over your head and punched you in the face, like, _ten times!_ ” 

“Yeah, no,” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. “Thanks for that, Dustin. I forgot about that.”

“Don’t be a dick about it.” Dustin scowls. Then he shifts his weight from one foot to another, ducking his gaze. “I came to check on you. In case you were dead, or something.” 

“Oh.” Steve says dumbly, kind of floored. _That’s… actually kind of sweet_. _And unexpected._

“The Party was really worried about you,” Dustin adds. 

“The… Party?” Steve’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

“Oh yeah.” Dustin, to his surprise, flushes a little. He didn’t think the kid was even _capable_ of feeling embarrassment, considering he’d come barrelling over to him demanding help with wrangling a bunch of bloodthirsty monsters without so much as a “hi!” or “sorry” yesterday. “It’s what we call ourselves. Will, Mike, Lucas, El, Max and I. Sorr — I know, it’s kind of lame —“

“Nah.” Steve dismisses. It is, but he’s not about to say that when the kid is looking at him like he wants to _apologise_ for his group’s little nickname for themselves. “You guys saved the world yesterday, I think you’ve earned the right to call yourselves whatever the hell you want.” 

“Right.” Dustin smiles, visibly relieved. A pang of _something_ hits his chest. Whatever that was, it tells him it’s not the first time Dustin’s felt the need to defend _The Party_ from judgement. “Anyway, _we_ saved the world yesterday. Together. So I — _we_ — wanted to give you this.” 

Dustin thrusts a lumpy package at him. It’s wrapped in colourful red-and-green gift paper declaring _Santa’s Nice List!_ even though it’s nowhere near Christmas yet. “Wrapped it myself,” he says proudly, puffing up like a little bird. 

“Uh, thanks. I can see that.” Steve says, taking the gift into his hands. It’s oddly shaped.

“Just open it!” Dustin insists. 

“Okay, okay, give me a second!” Steve scowls. He’d wanted to open the wrapping carefully so as to avoid hurting Dustin’s feelings but that’s a no go given Dustin’s haphazard wrapping skills. It’s more crumpled paper taped together than actual folding and wrapping. He rips it open instead.

“It’s a… walkie-talkie?” Steve says, surprised. 

“Yeah!” Dustin grins, eyes gleaming with excitement. “So you can contact us whenever and we can call you if anything ever, you know, _happens_.” At that, he lowers his voice — probably a bit more dramatically than strictly necessary. “Welcome to the Party!” 

“Wait, what?” Steve flounders. “I’m what?” 

“You said it yourself! We saved the world together. And all of us are really grateful that you protected us — well, okay, Mike said no _but_ The Party is a democracy and majority voted yes — we also gave Max ten votes because she was the one whose brother beat you up — and I fought _really_ hard on your behalf because you’re like, the Obi-Wan to my Skywalker now so — yeah! You’re in!” Dustin beams enthusiastically. 

Well, _that_ was a lot to take in. Despite his inability to understand even a _quarter_ of what Dustin had just said — except _Mike is such a little shithead, I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him_ — he knows acceptance when he hears it so he gives Dustin a smile instead. “Wow, thanks man. I really appreciate it.”

“You say ‘over’ when you finish speaking and ‘over and out’ when you want to end the conversation. Don’t forget. Code Orange if you have a problem and _Code Red_ for emergencies.” Dustin instructs him. Then, with all the seriousness of a cop handing over his gun and badge, he adds, “Don’t abuse it.” 

“Okay.” Steve nods because there’s not much he can say to that. He’d throw in a joke there, something about what a ‘Code Red’ could mean for a bunch of thirteen-year-olds — _what, the arcade closing for a day?_ — but given the kind of shit these kids have proven they throw themselves headfirst into, he doesn’t even want to jinx it. 

“Good.” Dustin also nods, all seriousness. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it, then. See you around, Steve.” As he turns to leave, a thought occurs to Steve.

“Hey, wait man. How’d you even know I was here?” 

“Oh that’s easy. I asked the guys and Mike said Eleven would use her powers to find you — which she _did_ — but Hopper saw her doing it and told her not to look for you because he knew where you were. So he told El, who told Mike, who told me and now I’m here!” Dustin smiles up at him, the picture of innocence. 

Meanwhile, Steve is having a very hard time wrapping his head around the thirteen-year-old girl with the _completely overpowered_ abilities, who apparently can — “Wait, so she can see any of us? At any time?” 

“Yup.” Dustin says, apparently finding _no problem with that at all_. “Cool, huh? Well, I gotta work on my presentation for science class so, bye!” 

Steve waves him off, still dazed. 

He turns back to the house, wondering absently if there’s any chance that he could find a spare wall he could bang his head into, repeatedly, to come to terms with the _weird shit-fest that was now his life._

  
_—_   
  


Billy’s early. It’s probably because he spent less time that morning getting ready than marvelling at how, against all odds, his face hasn’t been slammed into any shelves after the events of last night. 

_Yet_ , he reminds himself.

He tries not to think about how it might be related to the way Neil had said _Don’t be late_ , low in his ear, the night before. 

Regardless, between him being ten minutes early and Max running ten minutes late, it means Billy has to sit at the dining table for an extra _twenty minutes_ , listening to the sound of Susan puttering about in the kitchen and his dad reading the newspaper, _hmm_ -ing and grumbling occasionally.

It shouldn’t have him so on edge, the regular white noise of breakfast at the dining table. But there’s something in the air today that’s making him twitchy. 

“Billy.” 

He startles. He can’t help it. He straightens, ignoring the glint of amusement he saw flashing in the corner of Neil’s eyes. “Yes, dad?” 

Neil shifts his gaze, slow and deliberate, to his leg under the table. “Stop that.” 

Oh. He’d been bouncing it. “Yes. Sorry, sir.” 

Neil gives him a once-over, over the top of his newspaper. Something he sees today must satisfy him because he goes back to his paper without another word — which for Neil Hargrove, is practically a cheerful slap on the back. 

Billy lets out a breath. He’d worn a pair of loose dark-wash jeans and a simple buttoned tee. As he reaches up a hand to scratch the side of his head, he realises he’s forgotten to wear his earring. 

“ _Sorry!_ Sorry.” A full twelve minutes late, Max comes banging down the stairs like a human whirlwind, red hair flying behind her. 

“Honey, you’re going to be _late_.” Susan tuts anxiously. Billy resists the urge to roll his eyes. Firstly, _completely redundant_. Secondly, Susan is never _not_ anxious so again, that whole tone is redundant. 

Billy offers her a sandwich in a baggie Susan had packed earlier. She eyes it with suspicion, before snatching it and heading for the door. Billy stands, quick to move off before he catches any flak for ‘ _dawdling and making Maxine later than she already is’_.

Neil’s voice freezes him in his tracks. It takes a second before Billy realises he’s addressing Susan, not him.

“Maxine is almost thirteen. She’s becoming a woman, Susan. She should really start acting like it.” Without even looking up from his paper, Neil has commanded the rapt attention of everyone in the kitchen. 

“She’ll come into it in her own time, Neil.” Susan soothes placatingly. Neil doesn’t respond. 

Billy, smelling danger, pries himself stiffly away from the dining table. But for once, it’s not coming towards him. It’s _Max_. Shit. _Shit._

Heart thudding, he announces in a tone as normal as he can make it: “I’m going. Max is probably waiting in the car.” 

He slides into the Camaro, taking comfort in the familiar grip of the wheel. He listens to the roar of the engine coming to life, breathing deep to try to calm his racing pulse. Once they peel out of the driveway and are roaring along at a safe distance from the house, he cranks up the volume of the stereo, relaxing at the ear-bleeding thrum of the bass. 

“Geez, what crawled up your ass and died?” Max shoots him a disgusted look. “Don’t take it out on the rest of us normal people who don’t want to go deaf by thirty.” 

Great. Max is getting _mouthy_ with him now, as if the threat of a hit to the family jewels even holds weight to him now that he isn’t shot full of tranquilliser in his system and Max isn’t holding a fucking nail-bat — _speaking of, where did she even get any of that from?_

Never mind. He resolutely _does not want to know_. 

Suddenly, Max leans back, voice going a little quiet. “Did Neil do anything? Last night?” 

Billy whirls towards her, fingers clenching over the wheel. He’d just complained about Max getting bold but he’d take that any day over her trying to talk _feelings_ with him. Jesus. 

“Max,” He says in a low, dangerous tone that bears no arguing. “I don’t know what you think you know but for once in your life, _stay out of business that doesn’t concern you_.” Look, Billy isn’t known for much besides being self-serving but that doesn’t mean he wants anything to happen to _Max_. 

Also, Susan and Max being safe is the one constant in the Hargrove house that Billy can trust — it’s his gauge for how much shit he can get away with at a given time. He’s not about to let her muddy the waters by trying to do something stupid like _help him_ , or something. 

Max is silent for the rest of the drive, but there’s a petulant turn to her mouth that tells him the conversation isn’t quite over yet. 

_Stupid._ Billy fights the urge to slam his hands on the wheel, tightening his grip instead. _So, so stupid_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dustin has finally made an appearance! I love that little dweeb. 
> 
> Next chapter: Billy goes to school but a certain Farbegé Organics user is notably missing, Nancy and Jonathan make their first appearance and Steve spends some time with the kids.


	3. smoke on the mountain (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> billy: what's so good about steve harrington, can everyone just STOP talking about steve harrington already??? 
> 
> also billy: pretty boy, long arms and legs, you're the only one worth playing basketball with 
> 
> yeah, that's just how i write billy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm rolling with that thing where everyone in the fandom just accepts that Billy is secretly smart and good at English. I don't know why it's always English he's good at in every fic but I like it so here he is. The plot is slowly starting to get moving but we still have a long way to go so strap in, folks!

Harrington isn’t in school. 

It just _figures_ that a spoiled little rich kid like Harrington would get to sit at home and nurse his poor, _damaged_ pretty boy face while Billy has to sit here in the mindless torture also known as English class. 

Billy doesn’t mind English really. In fact, he’d been pretty good at it back in California. It was easy, really, once you knew the rules. Just talk about a few symbols and motifs and link it back to the Big Themes of the novel and you had As on every essay and English teachers wetting themselves over the _depth_ and _nuance_ in your writing. Easy.

However, with a teacher who, _for some reason_ , feels the need to read them the novel line-by-line like they’re a bunch of _grade schoolers_ , Billy could feel his sanity draining away with every passing second. 

Billy would’ve skipped too but the last time he’d tried, the school had phoned his father at work and that had earned him several backhands across the face and a cut across one eyebrow from Neil’s wedding ring. So he’s not going to attempt that here in middle-of-nowhere Indiana where he won’t even have the ocean to run to when he needs a place to pretend he doesn’t exist for a while. 

“Billy.”

He turns. It takes a while to place her face but when the recognition clicks, he gives her a lazy grin. 

“Wheeler.” 

Without a word, she drags her chair over to his desk and sits primly, setting up her copy of _Lord of the Flies_ — complete with annotations and multi-coloured tabs peeking out from the margins. He studies her for a minute: Harrington’s ex-girlfriend, delicately built with wide, worried eyes and a prim mouth. Neat hair and a carefully buttoned blouse tucked into a skirt, just shy of knee-length. 

Pretty, he guesses, but further from Billy’s type than you could even imagine. 

She raises an eyebrow expectantly at him. 

_“Here, invisible yet strong, was the taboo of the old life. Round the squatting child was the protection of parents and school and police-men and the law. Roger’s arm was conditioned by a civilisation that knew nothing of him and was in ruins…”_ Mrs Donovan’s voice drones in the background.“Discuss in your pairs how the quote exemplifies the themes of civilisation and savagery in the novel.” 

Ah. He’d probably missed the moment where she had asked them to turn to their left to form pairs for the discussion. Well, not like he has to pay attention in this class anyway. He’s already finished studying the text in California, miles ahead of the students in this backwater town. 

Time to play around a bit then. Wheeler looks like the type of girl that would be fun to rile up — maybe that was the fun Harrington had saw in chasing an uptight, prissy girl like her. The moment where she would break and start chasing _back_.

Billy leans forward, resting his weight on his arms. 

“So, what’ll it be, Wheeler? Civilisation, or savagery?” Billy sneers. “Though with a girl like you, I don’t think I have to think very hard to guess you’d pick civilisation.”

She gives him a cool look. “Well _I_ think…” she says, ice coating every word. “If you even have to ask, you’re missing the point. Civilisation masks and restrains but without it, people are revealed in their true natures.” 

Her blue eyes bore into his flintily, like icy chips. 

_Oh_ , Billy swallows a laugh, startled. _She knows._

“Like on the island.” _Or a creepy house in the middle of nowhere._ “Without civilisation, Roger shows who he truly is: the kind of guy who would throw rocks at a child.” _Or shove Lucas Sinclair into a bookshelf. Or beat Steve Harrington’s face into the ground._

Billy has to give it to her. For all she looks like a prissy princess, Wheeler has _balls_.

“Okay, you got me all intimidated with your _literary analysis_. But what do you care, anyway? You’re his ex, not his keeper.” Billy says. “And as far as I’ve heard, you’re the one who broke his heart and ran off with the town weirdo.” 

_That_ gets him a reaction. Wheeler recoils like she’s been slapped, lips tightening. “Steve is my friend.” _Aw, how touching,_ Billy opens his mouth to say but she continues. “And if you ever hurt him again, I have a gun in my car and I know how to use it.”

The last line comes _so far out of left field_ , so utterly _ridiculous_ coming out of Little-Ms-Perfect’s prissy mouth that Billy can’t help it. 

He _cackles_. Which only serves to piss her off more, seeing the serious glare she’s giving him. 

“Mr Hargrove, care to share what’s so funny with the class?” Mrs Donovan turns her stern gaze onto him. 

Billy turns on the biggest shit-eating grin he can, about to respond when just then, the bell rings. Mrs Donovan’s attention swings rapidly away from him to keeping the attention of the class as everyone begins packing to leave.

“Remember!” Mrs Donovan calls over the din. “We will be starting our pair-work semester project next week. You may remain in the pairs you discussed with this week, or choose another partner!” 

As students flood past them in their hurry to leave, Billy turns to Nancy, deliberately stretching the corners of his mouth to give the impression of a particularly savage wild cat. “So, Wheeler. Partners, you and me. What do you say?”  
  
To his disappointment, her cool blue eyes give no sign of a reaction. Giving him an unimpressed look, Nancy turns, flipping her hair as she turns to her right and finds another partner with ease. _Stupid hicks falling at her feet for the easy A she’ll give them._

He wasn’t expecting her to agree, but he didn’t expect the cold reaction either. He’d thought that since he’d gotten a rise out of her earlier, he might be able to do it again but she’s clearly warier of him now, slamming down the walls hard and fast on their conversation. Billy sighs internally. With Wheeler giving him the silent treatment and Harrington out of school, this is shaping up to be a _very boring school day_. 

It’s too late when he realises Mrs Donovan has witnessed the entire exchange. 

“Mr Hargrove, since you do not have a partner, you will join Mr Harrington when he returns.” On that note, she heads back to her desk, presumably preparing for her next class.

Holy _shit_. He catches Wheeler’s eye. She’s giving him a dirty look, the kind he was gunning for earlier while provoking her. _Well_ , he thinks, _if she wanted to protect her little Stevie that badly, she should have partnered him herself_. He flips her the bird.

Giving him one last look like he’s gum scraped from the bottom of her beige flats, she leaves the classroom. 

Only then does he allow himself a laugh at the turn his life has just taken. One whole semester working with the guy who he just beat half to death a day ago. 

Yeah, this should be _great_.

—

When Billy had first come to Hawkins, he had a plan. It was simple, cultivated with brutal efficiency from experience in moving around schools in California. Every place was the same: you just had to play the game. Get the right girls, talk to the right people, knock out anyone in your way in your climb up the social ladder until you reach the top. Collect your power, respect and ticket to all the parties, drugs and alcohol after. 

People were hungry for the new kid. Understandably, in a town where there’s nothing but miles of cornfields and the most exciting thing every year is the Fourth of July fair. But for every girl that flirted relentlessly with him, for every guy falling in step beside him, there were conversations with everyone else that _all circled back to the same thing_.

_Have you met Steve Harrington?_

It was ridiculous. It made him want to gnash his teeth. He _knew_ he would be king to all the stupid peasants eventually but it didn’t make it any less frustrating to have to sit through countless stories about _what Steve Harrington did with Kelsey Manning in sophomore year_. He didn’t know why any of these hicks thought he would _care_ that Steve Harrington had popped the cherries of half of the most popular girls in school and still somehow charmed his way into sitting with all of them whenever he pleased. 

He didn’t care, he _really_ didn’t. Yet, these people served Steve Harrington up to him on a platter, like he was the single best thing to ever grace the town of Hawkins. _Jesus_ , if the guys on the team wanted to show their admiration for the guy any more, they’d already be down on their knees sucking his dick. 

Still, he’d felt at least a little curiosity about the guy. Back in Cali, whenever fresh blood had turned up itching to take over his spot as top dog, it had always been a fun time beating them back into the dirt until they were cowed into submission. Part of him felt a little relief that it wouldn’t be as easy as it seemed to take the crown at Hawkins High. 

But that was before he actually _met_ Steve. 

First, at the party. Once he’d learned that Steve’s “thing” at parties was being the unmatched Keg King of Hawkins, he’d set about taking that away from him first. Steve’s record was _twenty-six seconds._ Billy could do _forty_. 

Billy let himself ride the wave of that high, drowning himself in the cheers in his name and jeers at the first few holes in Harrington’s reputation. The beer at the party was shit, not that he expected any better at a high school party in Indiana but he’d felt a pleasant buzz over the victory for a while. 

That is, until it was soured by Nancy Wheeler. Something happened between Hawkins’ Perfect Couple — Billy didn’t see how punch got spilled all over Wheeler’s shirt but he heard the collective gasp of the crowd, the heavy silence that followed. With all eyes on Steve, he found himself watching too as the boy wrung his hands and helplessly followed after her as she stalked towards the bathroom. 

Five minutes later, Steve left. Without Nancy.

(And later, he heard: Wheeler left with _Jonathan Byers_.) 

But that was it for him, for that brief buzz of victory. Because after whatever happened between him and Nancy, Steve didn’t _care_ anymore. 

Billy took his title of Keg King, his position as star player on the basketball team, his ex-girlfriends, even his _friends_. Billy kept taking and Steve _just kept giving_. 

It made him seethe with rage. Frustration boiling over with no outlet for it besides the brief moments of collision during basketball, their tension-filled exchanges before Billy inevitably knocked the idiot who _didn’t know how to plant his feet_ to the ground. 

He’d searched for this _King Steve_ in the hallways, in class, during basketball practice. But he hadn’t found a _trace_ of the guy who had supposedly ruled the school with nothing more than good hair and a charming smile. From afar, Harrington was all cream sweaters, polo t-shirts and soft brown eyes like a baby fucking deer. Up close, there were dark bruises around his eyes and sometimes, he got this glassy look like he wasn’t really _there_. Just a shadow.

A few weeks into meeting Steve Harrington, Billy had a sudden, terrible realisation. 

Steve Harrington hadn’t been king for a while, even before Billy stepped foot in Indiana. The thought _pissed_ him off — he’d come looking to take someone out from the top, not usurp the position of someone who was already on his way down. 

Hell, he’d practically _given_ his crown over. A pat on the back to his successor like a consolation prize every time he so much as _looked_ at Billy, looking at him but not really _seeing_ or caring about the guy who was supposedly taking everything he had. Even his friends hadn’t really been _taken_ , they’d lost their king and latched onto the next best candidate. 

_Next best_. Even the words felt sour in his mouth. 

Sure, he caught a few glimpses of _King Steve_ now and then. Moments before a game, when his eyes flashed — suddenly _present_ — or during a game when he called for the ball and everyone on the team did their _damned_ best to get it to him, moving like clockwork that only told to how used they were to _obeying him without thought_. The occasional freshman who was caught stuttering and blushing their way through a confession, leaving Steve awkwardly carding a hand through his hair searching for ways to tell her no, and _hadn’t she got the memo he’d fallen way down the social totem pole?_

So yeah. Glimpses. But it was like an afterimage — of a person who was no longer _there_. Whoever Steve Harrington was before, it was clear that he was long gone. Leaving this quieter, less carefree version of himself that carried that defeated, tired air about him like a shield. 

A whistle blows, the shrill shriek of it cutting through the air. 

Billy pauses in his steps, the game around him halting as they all turn towards Coach Nelson. 

“Do I have to tell you all to come to me when I blow the whistle?” Coach yells. “Come on boys, show some _hustle_!” Billy and the team jog half-heartedly towards him. Privately, he wonders what the news is. There’s still twenty minutes till the end of practice and Coach wouldn’t interrupt it for nothing. 

“So.” Coach begins. “Your captain, Mr Harrington, just called in to tell me that he’s feeling unwell and won’t be coming to practice today. I told the imbecile that he called _an hour and forty minutes_ into practice and I definitely saw he wasn’t here a while ago.”

Some of the boys on the team snigger at that. Seems like Harrington’s particular brand of idiocy is a bit of a joke around here. _Yeah,_ Billy thinks. _Seems about right_. He’s seen enough of the guy sleeping through half his classes to know that he isn’t the brightest student in town. 

“However,” Coach’s joking tone evaporates on that word. “He then told me that he won’t be coming to practice for the rest of the semester.” He lets this line hang, only emphasising the stunned silence that follows. No matter how far Steve had fallen, it seems the team never expected their captain to _quit basketball_. 

“Mr Harrington has informed me that he would like to quit basketball to ‘free up time for his academics’.” Coach says, complete with air-quotes. Billy snorts at that. The likelihood of Harrington giving basketball up to _study_ is about equal to the chances that _aliens are real_. “While I am not allowed to condemn his decision as a member of this institute, this does mean that we are _without a captain_ for the qualifiers next week.”

This time, the silence is broken by boos and jeers from the team. Someone behind him mutters _Did Harrington really pussy out right before qualifiers?_

Somehow, Billy catches Tommy’s eye. He’s uncharacteristically quiet for someone who usually jumps at the first opportunity to talk shit about his ex-best friend. In fact, he doesn’t even look surprised at the news. 

Well, he’d been the one to tell Billy all about how Harrington ‘turned bitch for that Wheeler chick’. Maybe he saw it coming. 

“ _In any case_ ,” Coach cuts through the murmurs with a sharp clap. “I don’t know if Harrington is quitting to focus on senior year or if there are… other reasons,” he eyes the bruises on Billy’s knuckles with a critical eye but doesn’t comment further. “But I expect you boys to sort it out with him, understand? Otherwise, find yourselves a new captain by Friday’s practice. _Understand?_ ” 

He nods at the chorus of _Yes Sir_ ’s he receives in response. “Then practice ends here. Get out of the gym in ten. Hagan, take the keys and don’t forget to lock up.” 

He tosses the keys to Tommy, who fumbles before he gets a hold of them. Nothing like the easy way Harrington usually swipes them out of the air with his agile hands. Billy can see the way the season’s going to go already — he hates to admit it, but the team doesn’t… _function_ without Harrington. There will be fumbled balls, passes to empty spaces where they would expect his long, lean arms to catch a speeding ball…

The team sucks compared to the ones he’s played with in California but with Harrington as captain, they’re at least _passable_. Right now, he’s not sure they’ll even make it to semis. 

“Hargrove, man,” Tommy slings a sweaty, hot arm around his shoulder. Billy _hates_ contact unless he’s actively asking for it. He shrugs the arm off. Tommy gives him a look but knows better to protest. He continues rambling instead. “You must be happy about Ste — Harrington. I mean, you’re a shoo-in for captain now.” 

Billy grits his teeth, passes it off as a mean grin. The implications of that statement rub against him like sandpaper. _Next best._ “Don’t know about that Tommy-boy. I don’t exactly _play nice_.” 

He’d just meant it as a reminder of all his aggression, on and off the court. But it rings true. Even growing up, Billy’s never been the type of kid to _play nice_. Growing up with Neil Hargrove meant that he’d never been afraid to take a punch — or dish one out — even when he was still a scrawny-armed twig with too-wild eyes. He’s not exactly a shoo-in for _any_ type of leadership position. 

“Well yeah, but you’re the best player we have without Harrington. _With_ , even with.” Tommy corrects himself hastily. “Just come for team dinner once in a while, maybe.” 

Well, Tommy’s really pissing him off even as he’s trying to kiss his ass. Billy figures it’s time to make an exit before he punches the lights out of another member of Hawkins Basketball team and gets himself thrown off it. He says some bullshit about having to leave to pick Maxine up and stalks off to the showers, leaving Tommy behind him looking a little stung by the dismissal. 

Billy’s not going to burn this bridge between himself and Tommy. Knows that for whatever reason, the school recognises Tommy as the right-hand man to the king so stealing Tommy only further cements the title he stole from Harrington. But he’s not going to let freckled, snivelling _Tommy_ tell him what to do so he doesn’t bother turning around to soften the blow. 

Later, as the hot shower of water hits his back, he wonders what could be _so important_ that Steve Harrington would quit basketball.

—

“Please?” Dustin implores, eyes going impossibly wide. “Max said I would never beat her high score and you know I can’t just let that slide right? My pride, nay, my _dignity_ is on the line here, Steve!” 

Steve gives him a flat look but he’s quickly thrown off guard by the similarly wide-eyed, _hopeful_ looks The Part — the _twerps_ are giving him. Even _Max_ is looking at him with that expression and she’s the girl that nearly slammed a nailed baseball bat into her brother’s balls to pull off a threat. 

This isn’t what he signed up for when he agreed to pick Dustin up from school because Mrs Henderson was busy with work. This is blatant _emotional blackmail._

_“_ Fine.” He grouses. “But get your grubby little hands off my car. And all of you buckle up in the backseat, I’m not getting a ticket because of you idiots.” 

The pleading looks give way immediately to absolute glee at their successful attempt at manipulating a helpless high schooler and all the little shitheads climb into his car. Dustin calls shotgun immediately, to unusually little protest over the usually coveted seat. 

“Thanks Steve.” Dustin smiles and the surprising amount of sincerity in his voice makes Steve’s heart squeeze with an emotion he doesn’t want to name. 

“Thanks Steve,” the rest echo, in near-unison. _Damnit,_ it's actually kind of adorable.

Of course, Dustin ruins it, as Dustin does. “Can we get ice cream after the arcade?” 

“Don’t push your luck, Henderson.” 

_(They do.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a little late. I suddenly received news that means I have a lot to do this week so the next update will probably come next Mon or Tues. In the meantime, hope you enjoyed the slightly longer chapter to make up for it! :D Leave a comment or a kudos - I planned out most of the story already but these really do give me the motivation to keep writing!!


	4. unless we get frightened of people (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> billy: casually memorises steve's class schedule, looks for him in the hallways so they can talk alone, gets frustrated by steve's cockblocking friends 
> 
> steve: happily eating a fruit cup, talking to nancy & jonathan
> 
> billy: wHAt are these mIND gAMEs he's playing??? making me feel inadequate and shit >:o the high school lunch table is TRULY a dangerous place 
> 
> tf why am i clowning on my own fic i don't know

It’s already been two days and upon seeing the empty parking spot where Harrington usually parks, Billy’s sure that he skipped school again. 

Billy sighs a little, drawing in one last breath before dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under the force of his boot. He resigns himself to another boring day at Hawkins High before walking into the stuffy building. 

But as he’s walking down the hallway, he sees it. 

That familiar head of hair, unmistakeable even from a distance away. 

Steve Harrington, quietly putting books away in his locker, expression half-hidden by his expensive shades. 

Billy feels his face split into a wide, sharklike grin. Excitement courses through his veins and he speeds up, flexing his fingers in anticipation. 

He slams his arm into the locker next to Steve’s, probably with more force than necessary, leaning his weight against it till his face is right next to Steve’s. A thrill of excitement runs through him at the little startled jump he gets out of him. 

“Hey Harrington,” he sneers. “Has the king finally deemed us worthy of his presence?” 

Steve gives him a long surveying look but it’s impossible to discern where he’s looking with his eyes covered by those stupid shades. 

Billy instantly hates them. The pretentiousness of them just like everything wears, down to the flashy watch and his girly Nikes. 

So he snatches them off his face.

Behind them, Steve is glaring at him but only half-heartedly. Billy had seen the mottled purple creeping out from the sides of his sunglasses but seeing his handiwork full-on makes his breath catch in his throat in a way he didn’t expect. 

The bright, angry red from a fresh bruise has given way to mottled purples and a sickly yellow-green near to the sides of his face. Various cuts litter the surface of Steve’s face, one cutting through his eyebrow. One of his eyes is swollen but even that isn’t as noticeable as the dark bruising under both his eyes. 

Harrington looks _tired_. 

He must catch some of the surprise on Billy’s face because he scoffs a little, snatching his sunglasses from Billy’s loose grasp. He slides them back on, raising a hand to comb through that ridiculous head of hair. 

“God. You really are a dick, aren’t you?” Steve says. Those are his first words to Billy, three full days after he completely beat him into the ground. It’s so inadequate to what happened between them — so _mild_ after everything — that the contempt leaking from those few words sinks right under Billy’s skin, searing him from the inside. “What, you like seeing your handiwork?” 

Billy grabs onto the opportunity like it’s a lifeline. 

“That’s right, princess,” he purrs mockingly. “Love seeing those bruises I put on your pretty face—” He ups the taunting after a moment’s hesitation. “—while you lay on the ground, completely _useless_ at defending those kids.” He can feel the anticipation crawling under his skin, like _remember? Remember what I did, Steve, it’s all over your face —_

Steve’s jaw tightens. _Yes!_ His nerves jump at the reaction. 

“Steve.” 

The voice cuts through the tension and cold disappointment washes over Billy like icy lake-water. _No_ , he grits his teeth as Steve turns away from him to face the two behind him. Billy can sense his surprise from the way his eyebrows tick upward, in that way they do when he’s hopelessly confused. 

“We better go. We’re going to be late for Chemistry.” Nancy gives Steve a meaningful look, then shoots Billy a wary glance. Byers isn’t looking at Billy at all, quietly looking on as his girlfriend loops an arm through Steve’s and quite literally _drags him away_ from Billy. He follows behind them, seemingly unbothered by her closeness with her _very recent ex_.

Billy isn’t the smartest kid in school but he’s always been good at remembering schedules. He has to be — to know when it’s safe, when Neil will be in and out of the house. 

And he’s _pretty sure_ Steve and Nancy don’t have Chem together because that’s one of the classes he shares with Steve, besides English. 

He scoffs. _Then what is she trying to do? Escort Harrington to every class like they’re his fucking bodyguards, or something?_

Knowing Nancy Wheeler and the stick up her ass, that’s probably exactly what she’s trying to do.

Frustration gnaws at his bones, the unreleased tension settling uncomfortably under his skin. He’d spent so long trying to get a rise out of Steve Harrington, in basketball, at parties and finally _he succeeded_ at the Byers’ house. 

He’d thought it be easier now, to get that same fire going in Steve’s dark brown eyes but as soon as he saw a spark of it, it’d been immediately clamped down. _Fucking Wheeler_.  


He turns away from the lockers and stalks down the hall, sneering at the skittish freshmen who hurry out of his way like he’s some dangerous animal. 

_Pathetic, everyone in this whole town_. 

  
—

Billy keeps an eye out for Harrington for the rest of the school day but every time he so much gets a _glimpse_ of his stupid, floppy hair, Princess Wheeler and Weirdo Byers are flanking Steve like he’s the Queen of England being escorted to her next destination. 

The funniest thing about it all is that Steve doesn’t even look _comfortable_ with the arrangement.  
  
His shoulders are slightly hunched and every so often, he cringes a little. He’s not the sharpest but even he would have trouble remaining oblivious to the hallway gossip buzzing around him. He must know what a strange group they are — Harrington with his only remaining friends: his ex-girlfriend and the guy she ditched him for. 

Billy guesses he still gets some enjoyment from seeing Harrington suffer, even if it’s only from the ridiculous rumours flying over his head. But it’s still frustrating seeing him walk and talk with the weirdly-protective couple and on the whole, _completely ignore Billy’s presence_.

Karmic retribution comes for him when he slides into his usual table at lunchtime and the first thing he hears is:  
  
“— _my god,_ did you see Hannah talking to him in the hallway earlier? I thought she was going to _cry_.” Some girl whose name Billy never bothered to remember — Whitney? Wiley? — giggles. 

“I don’t blame her.” Laurie wrinkles her nose, leaning forward onto her arms. “Have you _seen_ Steve today? He looks like he got run over by a semi, his poor face. And don’t forget, he was sweet on her in sophomore year. They dated.”

A chorus of _oohs_ run through the table. Some of the girls are suddenly nodding in enthusiastic understanding. Billy averts his eyes, focusing on shoving half of his burger into his face. 

He’s never heard a lamer conversation in his _life_. He thinks about when he could jump in, change the subject entirely, maybe about the upcoming basketball game —

But then of course, another senior at the table — some blockheaded, heavy-set guy who Billy is pretty sure has been held back a few years says: “Okay but are we not going to talk about how Steve is sitting with _Nancy_ and _Jonathan Byers_ right now? I mean, that’s fucking weird, right?” 

The entire table surreptitiously turns to the infamous trio who, sure enough, are seated together at a table towards the far side of the cafeteria. 

Billy doesn’t really know the history here but even he has to admit that seeing the three of them together feels odd. Like a photograph that hasn’t been developed right.

Harrington is seated opposite the two of them. Every now and then he pushes his hair up from where it’s flopping into his face. Every now and then he glances at Nancy, an odd sort of vulnerability in his face, like he’s not sure he’s even allowed to _look_ at her. 

It’s funny, if not a little sad.

Suddenly, a vision comes unbidden to him. Prom king, dumb jock Steve and shy, perfectly nerdy Nancy. Like something out of a teen movie. Billy snorts. No wonder everyone is still so fixated on them — these hicks from bum-fuck Indiana definitely ate that shit up. They must have been _perfect_ together, before whatever it was happened to them.

They probably _looked_ good together too, but now with the addition of loner Byers with his intense stare and greasy hair cut in a style that puts bowls everywhere to shame, the whole scene feels off-kilter. 

But then — he sees Nancy give Jonathan a wry smile, eyes twinkling with humour in a way he’s never seen from her and Jonathan relaxes easily in return — suddenly the two of them feel perfectly natural and Steve is the one who doesn’t fit. 

_Jesus_. What a mess. 

Carol, ever the gossip, darts in with a conspiring whisper — the kind of whisper that’s only staged, of course, because she means for everyone to hear.

“I think he really loved her, you know. The way he talked about her, I’ve never seen Steve do that with anybody else.” Carol’s eyes stretch wide in sympathy. Billy has no way of telling whether she’s sincere or if it’s mocking. Knowing her, probably a little bit of both. “He even fought with me and Tommy over her. She drove him _crazy_. So he’s probably still not over her.” 

Laurie sighs, a little wistfully. “Yeah, but Steve’s always been like that, y’know? I mean he had a _rep_ but he’s never been too good at the whole—” she waves a hand vaguely. “— one-night-stand, no-strings-attached thing.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the girls at the table. 

“Becca told me he always smiled at her in class and sometimes he’d wave to her in the hallways. Like, no one told him they were supposed to be strangers after hooking-up?” Nicole chimes in. 

The heavy-set guy — Darren? — sneers. “I think he’s a pussy.” 

“ _I_ think it’s kind of sweet.” Laurie counters sharply, frowning.

“Whatever.” Darren steals a fry off her plate, ignoring her even as she makes a noise of protest. “But you _have_ to admit that the way he’s hanging around Byers and Nancy after she ran off on him is fucked up. It’s pathetic, man. He coulda had any girl he wanted but he’s still chasing her skirt like some kind of bitch.” 

Now _that_ Billy can agree with. _Plenty of bitches in the sea_ , he remembers telling Harrington once. He’d given him a disgusted look and Billy had laughed, secure in the knowledge that King Steve had turned bitch after all. 

“Maybe it’s a weird sex thing.” Carol giggles. “Like, the two of them make Steve _watch_. Or they all do it together? How does that even _work_.” 

Billy watches Tommy elbow her and for a second it seems like he might even be seriously chiding her, until that familiar smirk breaks out over his face and Tommy resumes his usual brand of dickheadness. 

“But how’d Steve get so beat up anyway? I didn’t think anyone would dare to actually hit him like that, considering he’s got family money worth all of our heads.” Some random junior from the basketball team asks. 

That’s true. Billy has been trying to lay low a little, just in case Harrington got it in his head to press charges. But he’s about ninety percent sure he won’t — if he was planning on it, he would have already done it _and_ he definitely would’ve gloated about it earlier. 

Also, most of the people at the table are already eyeing his banged-up, half-healed face and bruised knuckles so there’s no point in denying it. 

Billy holds up his hands like _alright, alright_ , _you got me_ , letting a charming grin widen across his face. A thrill runs through the whole table and suddenly there’s a clamour of incredulous, excited whispers shot his way. 

“No _way —_ “

“Man, I knew you had it in for him, but you _really_ got him —“

“When did you guys fight?” 

Some of the girls give him horrified expressions but Billy doesn’t mind. In the end, bitches chase power and that is what he has. A few of the guys, mostly juniors, give him awed looks of respect, like they can’t quite believe what they’re seeing.  


Billy basks in the spotlight a little, enjoying the audience before he deems it the time to answer. “I caught the guy with a bunch of kids in Byers’ house, this creepy place far out from the main road. One of the kids was my step-sister and when I asked him about it, he _lied_.” He pauses to shudder for effect, letting the corner of his lip twist in feigned disgust. “I don’t know what kind of weird shit Harrington’s mixed up in but it’s _fucked_ , man. So I had to take him out, teach him a lesson.” 

There’s a burst of even more incredulous, raucous noise after that. Some of the guys seem doubtful, though they don’t voice it. Especially the ones on the basketball team — some even look away from the scene, clearly uncomfortable with this accusation against their former captain. 

But the table is eating it up, he can tell. 

Darren claps him on the back. “You gotta teach guys like that a lesson. Otherwise they never learn.” 

Suddenly, Carol’s high-pitched, nasally voice cuts in. “I don’t know about that. Steve’s a lotta things, but he’s not a _pervert_.”

Apparently, that’s enough to cast doubt on Billy’s whole statement because suddenly, a lot of the girls are nodding in agreement. 

_What the fuck_ , he thinks. Carol’s spent the _whole time_ he’s been here talking shit about all the ways Steve has messed up, turned into a huge bitch because of Nancy Wheeler and she chooses _now_ to defend him? The one time Billy wants people to believe him? 

Figures. 

“Hey, but you beat him up pretty bad, dude.” Darren’s hand is warm and heavy on his back. Billy fights the urge to shake him off and instead grins, in that way he knows people find half-wild, half-sexy. “That’s solid.” 

“I don’t know about that, man.” Tommy sniggers, munching on a fry. “Steve could never take a hit. Remember that time we went down to the community pool — it was closed that summer — and we broke in at night with all our beer? The guard came out of _nowhere_ and then _Steve_ —”

Tommy is abruptly lost to a bout of laughter. As recognition dawns in the eyes of everyone else at the table, they break out into laughter too, all reminiscing something Billy wasn’t around to be a part of. 

“Oh _shit_ , that summer was _wild_ man!” One of the seniors from football wheezes. “Shit, you remember that time Steve snuck into Kelsey’s bedroom while he thought her parents were on a trip and — and —“ 

“Oh my _god_!” Whitney giggles, high and obnoxious. “I saw him getting chased by Mr Manning down the street — and you know he’s a retired military man — I thought Steve was about to get _murdered_ , it was so freaking funny—” 

“—he got clocked that one time by a ball I pitched and he was out for like, _two_ minutes straight, holy shit—”

Billy’s feeling less and less triumphant over his win by the minute and he feels the conversation swallow the whole group up, leaving him cold and alone on the outskirts. 

What the fuck is wrong with everyone today? It’s like something in the water is making them all nostalgic for the _good old times_ , the times Billy wasn’t around to experience.  


It’s fucking frustrating. It reminds him of his first few weeks at Hawkins High — where no matter what, the conversation somehow always circled back to the same old tired gossip and stories about Steve Harrington and his stupid hair and his stupid exploits. 

And if there’s one thing he hates the most, it’s being _ignored_.

Billy stands abruptly, and the conversation and excitement dies around him like someone’s been shot. Unable and unwilling to blurt out some excuse, he simply picks up his tray and leaves.

That familiar frustration simmers inside his veins. He feels itchy in his own skin, like he’s an imposter — which is ridiculous because he’s already earned his position at the head of the table, many, _many_ times over. Won it from the guy who didn’t even bother fighting for it in the first place. 

So why does he still have to deal with this shit? 

It’s all these hanger-ons, still reliving their glory days or whatever. Back when Steve Harrington was still around to make all of them feel good and important, and supply them with quality beer and whatever else Daddy’s money could buy. It’s so stupid and unfair he could scream.

His frustration only grows when he catches Steve’s eye on his way out. He meets Billy’s sharp gaze, expression as neutral as can be. 

He feels those eyes on the back of his shirt, all the way out of the cafeteria.  
  


** — **

  
It’s still weird, sitting with the two of them across from him.

He’s used to lunch tables full of people, half of them faces he barely recognises, with ten different conversations going on at any given time, and none of them scratching past the surface of shallow gossip.

Sitting across from Jonathan’s intense, steady gaze and Nancy’s pinched expression and worried eyes is a completely different experience. 

It’s like being in an interview. Or maybe a bug under a microscope. 

Steve’s busy wondering if this is actually what it’s going to be like when he has to sit through countless job interviews if he doesn’t go to college when Nancy gives him a little wave. 

“—you listening? _Steve_ , this is serious.” Nancy frowns in that way she does where her eyebrows draw together and the blues of her eyes seem to brighten for a moment with worry. Steve used to find it adorable. “He gave you _head trauma_. If anything, this shows that he has no limits to what he’s willing to do and that makes him _dangerous,_ Steve. Why do I feel like you’re not taking this seriously?” 

“I am.” Steve says, licking the sauce off the sweetened fruit cup he’s holding before swallowing another piece of fruit. “I am taking this super seriously.” 

Nancy shoots Jonathan a hopeless expression.

“Steve, he’s not going to leave you alone, you saw how he came after you first thing in the morning! And now that you’re paired together for that English project, you’re going to have to spend even more time with him. Alone. _Studying_.” Nancy says anxiously, stressing on the last word, fists clenching.

Steve gives Jonathan a look. “Oh no, Nancy. God forbid we tarnish the sacred activity of _studying._ ”

That earns him a wry grin from Jonathan, which he feels weirdly proud of. Jonathan isn’t the type who smiles easily — he’s only seen him regularly give genuine smiles to Will and now, Nancy. Every smile from him feels _earned_ , like an accomplishment. 

“Seriously, Nance,” The old nickname slips out without him thinking and he hurriedly continues to try and draw attention away from the fact, “I am taking it seriously but I’m not, _scared_ of the guy or anything. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ignore him forever?”  
  
Nancy shuts her mouth, giving him a petulant look. 

“Wow.” Steve leans back, slightly incredulous. “Give a guy some credit, will you? I was doing fine until that asshole smashed a _plate_ over my head. S’not like he can find another one at _school_.” he adds, a little sorely.

Nancy sighs. “Okay, Steve. But you’ll promise that if he tries anything, you’ll come to us? Or even Hopper?” 

Steve doesn’t think it’ll win him any points with her to point out that calling the Chief of Police over a schoolyard fight is a bit of a faux pas. She’s the one who taught him what _faux pas_ meant anyway, and she probably wouldn’t like it being used against her. 

So he nods like a good boy and changes the topic. 

“How’s Will?” Steve turns to face Jonathan, who honestly looks a little surprised that he asked. _Damn,_ he knows he’s acted like an asshole for most of his life but it’s a little sad that he didn’t think Steve would care to ask about his little brother who had literally been possessed by an inter-dimensional monster a few days ago.

Then again, his own words — _the Byers’? Their whole family is a disgrace to the entire —_ echo in his ears and he winces at the realisation that Jonathan’s surprise is not entirely unwarranted.  


“He’s resting up. He’s doing a lot better than most would in his situation, actually. Already started begging me to bring him new tapes.” Jonathan says, voice going a little soft at the thought of his brother. “And he says he’s thought of a lot of things to draw — for when his hands stop shaking when he picks up the colour pencils.” 

Steve nods. “He’s a tough little dude.” 

Steve regrets the words a little — as if Jonathan needs him to tell _him_ that — but then Jonathan nods once, expression set and he’s grateful he said it anyway. Because it’s true. 

Will Byers has fought monsters _twice_ and survived.

That’s more than Steve can say for himself and any of the things he thought were his greatest achievements before. 

Honestly, sitting in this cafeteria where he’s sat for four years as the most ignorant, entitled douchebag of the school feels jarring. Everything is the same — the off-white walls, the hard, slightly-sticky plastic of the benches under them — but _he’s_ different. He feels it acutely now, in a way he never did even after that first night he found out monsters were real. 

He’d lost sleep the first time, sure, but it never felt like something about him had fundamentally changed. Thinking back on it, it was kind of ridiculous how nonchalantly he had brushed off that whole experience. 

But that was what King Steve did, wasn’t it? He was the Cool Guy, he let nothing get to him so even fighting monsters for one night was just — just —water off a bird’s back, or however the saying goes. 

But not now. Something about the second time had well and truly gotten to him — the feeling of facing down a pack of demo-dogs, trembling, as he yelled _COME ON!_ so loud he could almost drown out the sound of his own thudding heartbeat. The weight of four lives resting on his shoulders, heavier than the bat in his hands. Or maybe the toxic air of the tunnels, cold and unnatural, had sunk into his lungs and dug into every particle in his body, leaving him changed, forever. 

Well, whatever the hell it was, it had told him that it was naive to ever believe that the threat was over. The second time told him he couldn’t just put all that shit behind him. The Upside Down is a place, monsters are real and he’ll never have the certainty of life being _safe_ and _normal_ ever again. 

He thinks about Nancy, the way she had looked at him with teary eyes as he insisted they should just be _normal_ , pretend it never happened. 

He thinks he understands her better now. 

The bell rings, signalling the end of fifth period. 

“I gotta go. Got a free period and I’m supposed to meet people.” Steve stands, grabbing his tray. He holds out a hand to signal Nancy and Jonathan to stop as they both attempt to rise to follow him. “Seriously, it’s okay. I know you guys were trying to, I don’t know, protect me out of Monster Hunting Club solidarity or something but I can handle myself.” 

Nancy purses her lips, dissatisfied but unwilling to push the argument. “Fine. But we’ll meet you after your free period? Who are you meeting, anyway?” 

Steve sighs a little, bracing for impact. “Tommy and Carol.” 

Nancy actually gives a little _gasp_ at that. “But — _Steve_! They're…” She bites her lip, before letting the word tumble out, “ _assholes_.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Steve puts up a hand. “But we’ve been friends a long time and, well. That’s just how it is between us, okay? I don’t expect you to get it, just… trust me on this? We’re just gonna talk. You know I’ve been staying at Tommy’s and he gave me a lift to school today.” He adds, when Nancy doesn’t give a response.

Steve looks to Jonathan. He doesn’t know _why_ he does. It’s not like he expects him to back him up on this, not when Steve and Tommy’s friendship is _precisely_ what enabled so much torment on Jonathan’s end when they were growing up. 

But Jonathan’s expression is surprisingly calm. Non-judgemental, even. They all wait another beat before Nancy releases a breath and finally concedes.

“Fine. But if he ditches you before the ride home, _tell_ one of us, okay?” Nancy says fiercely, pushing a copy of her class schedule into his hand. “I have AP Chem in the afternoon, so I’ll be in school till late. We all know Tommy H. isn’t the most… reliable friend.” 

“He won’t.” Steve says, ignoring the mixed looks of confusion and pity he receives from Nancy. He doesn’t expect either of them to get it, he really doesn’t.

Nancy and Barbara were always the kind of best friends you see in movies — they did everything together growing up and they always did the _right_ things together. They cared for each other openly and all that shit. Jonathan, he remembers with a pang of guilt, just didn’t have any friends.

So he doesn’t expect either of them to understand the dynamic he has with Tommy and Carol. Even he doesn’t understand it sometimes but he knows that they’ll have his back when he truly needs it. 

And he’ll have theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience with this slower update! was really busy the past week but thankfully i managed to get this chapter out on time :-D 
> 
> also can you believe my nerve for advertising this as a billy/steve fic and literally making y'all wait until chapter FOUR for (1) interaction between them lmao sorry but also not really that sorry 
> 
> leave a comment if you enjoyed! i'd really appreciate it :-) i'm excite to explore tommy/steve/carol's dynamic a little more next chapter & also more billy and steve interaction so! yeah look forward to it.


	5. unless we get frightened of people (two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy: harrington? pft, he's a has-been, totally pussy-whipped by nancy wheeler, BILLy is king now (steve walks past) omg. steve! hey, steve! stevie boy- look we have a new keg king? what u gonna do about that, huh? wait... nothing? really? okay... um. 
> 
> i hc that tommy was kissing up to billy not just bc he's a dick, but lowkey bc he wanted to see if steve would get jealous enough to STOP paying attention to nancy frickin wheeler and be friends with him and carol again. but he didn't bc they're irrelevant for the whole of s2. rip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: no one cares about tommy h and carol besides you and like three other people
> 
> also me: write a whole chapter focused only on tommy/carol/steve dynamic with bonus tommy pov! 
> 
> dammit. 
> 
> also featuring dustin bc i always thought that dustin and tommy/carol could compete for top spot as steve's most protective friends, so i thought their interactions would be interesting! i mean, tommy and carol spraypainted a whole marquee for steve just bc they thought their boy got done dirty by his girl (good intentions, bad actions) and dustin literally said "if u die, i die" so that's my whole argument.

When Tommy was six, he wanted nothing more than to become the greatest explorer in Indiana. 

Never mind that Hawkins was small and objectively less interesting than watching grass grow. Tommy found adventure in the old abandoned barns overlooking miles of cornfields, ducking around the woods near Loch Nora and dipping his toes in the stream leading to Lovers’ Lake. 

But it wasn’t until he found his biggest conquest yet— the tallest oak tree in Hawkins— that he met Steve Harrington.

Tommy wanted to climb the Great Oak so badly. He’d seen plenty of older kids try it and some got pretty high up, but legend said that no one had actually reached the top before. 

He was determined to be the first.

But Tommy was six and he had a short, stocky body with weak arms. He tried and tried again, but could never quite manage to haul himself up past the first few branches. 

One day, when he was lying under the tree, still huffing from exertion and frustration at another failed attempt, he saw a brown-haired boy approach the tree. He was lanky but had lean and strong arms that could pull himself up the first few branches with ease. 

Tommy thought he was _cool_. 

_“Hey! D-do you want to climb to the top together?”_

The boy looked down, eyes widening in surprise at having been caught attempting the climb. Then, his face split into a wide, beaming grin. 

_“Yeah! We can be the first.”_

(A week later, they met Carol Perkins, who was less interested in climbing trees but was happy to supply them with juice boxes and cheers as the two of them fought their way to the top. Tommy thought her hair and eyes were _really pretty_ but he made Steve keep it a secret. And keep it a secret he did, because Steve never broke that promise, not even when Tommy and Carol started dating in eight grade.) 

Tommy has no idea why the memory of their first meeting came to mind but as he and Carol walk towards Steve, leaning casually against the hood of Tommy’s car, it feels like they’re approaching something momentous in their friendship. 

Cold sunlight glints off the windscreen as they get nearer and Steve finally spots them. He eases himself off the hood and looks at the two of them, face carefully neutral. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

A beat passes and then it’s _Carol_ who breaks the tension—

“ _Stevie_ , you _idiot!_ ” Carol rushes towards him, ineffectually beating her fists against his chest. “Why’d you pick a fight with _Billy Hargrove_?” 

Steve laughs a little, gently pulling her off him. 

“Billy’s been talking big, saying he beat you up because he caught you with his _sister_ or something.” Tommy says, carefully picking his way towards Steve. He parks himself beside him, on the hood of the car, though he leaves a little distance between them. Just in case. 

Steve shoots him a look like _Really, Tommy?_

Tommy holds up his hands defensively. “Whoa there, man. We didn’t believe him, _obviously_. Just asking what’s up with that?” 

Steve sighs. “I was babysitting those kids. Billy came looking for his sister, yeah, but then he went after Lucas Sinclair. He was about to beat the shit out of _him_.” 

Tommy whistles. “Shit.” 

Carol frowns, peach-pink lipstick accentuating the curve of her disapproval. Then she sighs. “Why’d you always have to be such a good guy, Steve?” She pats him on the shoulder, almost mournfully. “We all know you can’t take a hit.” 

“You go down faster than any Spring Fling prom queen.” Tommy adds, grinning a little.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Thanks guys. Really, no, I _totally_ thought I could beat Billy Hargrove in a fight. Actually— what’s up with him? Dude’s jacked, there’s no way he’s our age. He’s gotta be faking a birth certificate or something. Bet he’s actually twenty-five.” 

“Ew, Steve. Gross.” Carol wrinkles her nose. “I heard he went out with Ashley _J_.” 

“The sophomore?” Steve blinks. He breaks into a little smile. “ _Oh_. Okay, I see why that would be screwed up now.” 

“That’s fucked.” Tommy agrees, finding himself smiling too. The corner of his lip twists into a smirk. “And hey, what you doing noticing Hargrove’s _muscles_? You homo for him, or something?” 

Carol shoves him a little, squealing. “Tommy! He just beat Steve up, you can’t just _say_ that!” 

But Tommy presses on, sensing the opportunity to bring some normalcy, _familiarity_ to their interactions. “Hey, maybe our boy’s into that kind of stuff. What’s it called? Maso— masochisdom?” 

Steve socks him in the shoulder, fighting a grin. “Shut the _fuck_ up, Tommy. You guys suck. You make fun of me for _everything_ — remember when I was dating Alayna sophomore year? I helped her put on her shoes _one time_ and you never shut up about—“ 

“ _Your foot fetish!_ ” Carol laughs, eyes sparkling in delight. “Oh my god, _yes_ , how could we forget about that?” 

“Exactly.” Steve grouses. “She sprained her wrist, I was helping her tie her _shoelaces_ , you jackasses. _I do not have a foot fetish!_ ” 

Tommy grins, nudging Steve. “Said that a little loud, dude.” He gestures to the parking lot around them, where a few people nearby stare for a brief moment, before quickly averting their gazes. 

“Great.” Steve says. “So now I’m the guy who not only lost all my friends but _also_ has a foot fetish. Just great.” 

That, now _that_ shoots a pang of guilt through Tommy. He’d thought Steve would’ve known better than to take their argument as the end of their friendship. He hadn’t _lost_ them. He could never lose them, not after all they’d been through together. 

Steve knew that, didn’t he? 

Looking at the tired certainty overcoming Steve’s eyes in the wake of his own statement, Tommy’s suddenly not so sure. 

Carol bites her lip, silent for once, clearly picking up on the abrupt change in mood. The unspoken words, the long months of resentment and _hurt_ , hang heavy between them. 

It’s rare to catch a silence between the three of them. But it doesn’t lift. 

Steve, ever the people-pleaser, would normally crack a joke or say something stupid to ease the tension, bring them all out of the unusually solemn mood. But he seems content to leave them high-and-dry now, to really feel the weight of their own guilt. 

He’s changed in these past months, Tommy realises. 

There are real shadows under Steve’s eyes, beneath all the yellowing bruises and pinkish cuts. He’s thinner, quieter and less quick to crack a wild grin. Steve has always _hated_ silence, always filled it with chatter and jokes and _hey Tommy watch this!_ but he seems comfortable enough to watch the two of them flounder in it now. 

How had he missed all of this in the past months? Tommy marvels, fighting to keep the guilt from showing on his face. It couldn’t have been a sudden change— something’s been eating at Steve, not just Nancy’s betrayal. 

His best friend has been hurting for _months_ and Tommy hadn’t noticed; had been too busy cementing his position at Billy Hargrove’s side and throwing jabs at Steve, trying to rile him up enough that maybe he’d try to win him and Carol _back._

_I’m sorry_. Tommy swallows. The words rise like bile at the back of his throat, burning. _I’m so fucking sorry, Steve_. But they refuse to leave, trapped like a wad of gum, clinging treacherously to the walls of his throat. 

In the first week after their argument, Tommy had scoffed. Thought it would be just another one of their usual arguments and they’d find themselves high at some party a week later, ready to laugh it off and make amends. They never really apologised for those arguments, he realises in hindsight, just found themselves back together, always inevitably drawn together like a set of magnets.

They’d always been that way, the three of them. Even when Tommy had quite literally pulled on Carol’s pigtails in third grade. Or when Tommy had been pissed at Steve for getting into the middle school baseball team when he’d wanted both of them to join basketball together. 

Weeks passed, with Carol tugging at the sleeve of his jacket anxiously when Steve walked past, looking _alone_ and even haunted at times. _Think his dad said something to him again?_ Carol had asked him, the smack of sticky gum against her lips belying her worry. _We ought to talk to him, Tommy, make sure he’s not letting his parents get to him._

_He treated us like shit, Carol. Hell, he treated_ you _like shit_. _I’m not him get away with that._ Tommy had said, frowning but feeling uncertainty prick at him at the unusually glassy look in Steve’s eyes. He looked a million miles away.

Then months passed. Tommy stopped pretending he didn’t worry about Steve, but only to himself. In front of Carol, Billy and the others, he still scoffed and called Steve _pussy-whipped_ but privately, he began inviting Steve to parties, to team dinners, trying to dig his best friend out of theshell he’d buried himself in. 

But with olive branch after olive branch rejected, Tommy gave up. Figured Steve would come back to them when he was ready. And if not, his loss, right? He’d treated them like trash, called them _assholes_ when they were just trying to help him get over Nancy. It was his problem if he was acting like a stuck-up priss, not theirs, right? 

Now, standing at the edge of their shattering friendship, Tommy hates himself for it. He didn’t want to apologise because he _hadn’t_ been in the wrong but what did that matter in the face of losing his best friend? Twelve years of friendship down the drain because of their stubbornness and stupid, _stupid_ pride. 

Steve’s dark brown eyes seem impossibly deep, boring into his. A stare that could cut glass. Tommy opens his mouth slightly, with no idea what he’s about to say. Abruptly, Steve blinks and sighs tiredly. “That day… I was really harsh on you guys.” 

Carol shakes her head quickly, eager to end the tense silence between them. “No, Steve. We were being assholes. We wanted to help you get over Nancy but well,” She bites her lip. “We went a bit too far.”

“Yeah, man.” Tommy concedes. He’s not about to get beaten by _his own girlfriend_ at this. “We knew you really liked her. And we— we shouldn’t have done that. We were being dicks about it.” 

It’s not quite an apology, not without the big ’S’ word Tommy’s too much of a coward to get out, but Steve looks surprised all the same, his lips parting in a small ‘o’. Then, he smiles, all warmth and tentative happiness. It lights up his eyes and the tension floods out of his body. He leans back on his car, smile still lingering. 

Tommy’s smiling too, and so is Carol. The three of them shooting big, dumb smiles at each other. 

Steve gives a full-bodied shake, as if physically shaking off the remaining tension. He looks like a dog flicking water off its back. He gives Tommy a light shove. “And you _cannot_ give me shit for noticing Hargrove’s muscles, man. The arrogant prick wants _the whole school_ to notice them. Have you seen him with a shirt in practice, like, _ever?_ ” 

Tommy laughs. He has a point there. 

Encouraged, Steve goes on, hands on his hips in exasperation. “I’m Billy _fucking_ Hargrove and I’m allergic to shirts. You want to play skins? _Too bad_. I’ve got a permanent fucking reservation on that. Wear a shirt, shitbird.” He imitates Billy’s low, rumbly growl and _the tongue thing_.

Carol giggles, half-covering her face in feigned embarrassment. “Oh my _god_ , Steve. Please stop. I’m not gunna be able to listen to my girls with a straight face anymore when they talk about him.” 

“Your girls should get better taste in men.” Steve sniffs, pretty haughtily. 

Tommy snorts. “Those were the same girls who were lusting all over _you_ last year, Stevie.” 

Steve gapes at him, betrayal etched all over his features. “Fuck off, man! Not all of us have been going steady with a girl since _eight grade_.” 

Tommy grins, clapping him on the back sympathetically. “You’ll get there man.” 

The three of them chat until the bell rings, the sun bathing all of them in soft, honey-gold light. Fiercely, Tommy swears he’ll never forget this again. He’s got his two best friends beside him and that’s all the adventure he needs in small-time Hawkins. 

  
—  
  


“Uh, who is _that_?” Carol asks, scrunching up her nose, leaning towards the car door to peer out the window. There’s someone knocking on the Hagan’s front door.

Steve looks past Tommy in the driver’s seat to get a better look. He gets a glimpse of a colourful cap perched atop an unruly bed of curls. 

He’d recognise that little troublemaker anywhere.

“It’s okay guys. I know him, lemme handle it.” Steve says as they pull up in the driveway. He hops out the car. “Dustin!” he calls. 

Dustin turns, nearly dropping the machine— robot-thing?— in his hands when he sees Tommy and Carol getting out of the car. His blue eyes are wide. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” He cries, pointing at Tommy. 

Tommy exchanges a look with Steve, at a loss. _Like most people should be when dealing with a Dustin_ , Steve thinks, feeling kind of vindictive.  
  
“Uh, I _live_ here.” Tommy tries. He gets promptly ignored, which causes Steve to snort when he sees the offended look on Tommy’s face at being so pompously ignored by a _thirteen-year-old_ half his height. But then Dustin’s wide, betrayed eyes focus on him.

“Steve!” Dustin says unhappily. His mouth is pulled in a little frown. He gestures for Steve to step closer so that he can hiss to him, as if Tommy and Carol aren’t like, two feet away and still able to hear everything he’s saying. “What are you doing with _them_?” 

“Uh, hanging out, dude.” Steve says, brows ticking upward in confusion, not really sure what Dustin’s asking. 

He must not have said what Dustin wanted to hear because Dustin frowns again, somehow looking even _more_ dissatisfied. Steve tries again, hoping to appease him. “Where’s the rest of the geek squad? Thought you guys were attached at the hip or something.” 

And they _are_. Steve knows because he spent his days off being forced to chauffeur the little brats around town, all four of them piling into his BMW, bickering loudly in his backseat.  


Dustin sighs. “I _was_ with them. But all Mike and Lucas wanna do today is talk about their _girlfriends_. Will and I bailed outta there.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste, which Steve, as a very _single_ teenage boy, finds himself relating to far too much. He thinks about Dustin’s crush on Max and feels a gush of sympathy for him. _Way too young for heartbreak, kid._

“So why’d you come here?” Steve asks. Concern bleeds into his voice because his brain is still kind of programmed to associate _Dustin_ with _potential monster threat_. Or at least girl help. Maybe he needs advice on getting over Max? Which Steve is frankly _not_ the right person to go to for help because, hello _, Nancy_. “You need help with something?” 

Oh _shit_. Dustin looks disappointed. _Why does he look disappointed?_ Steve thinks frantically. He’s never been that good with his words; pretty sure he’d somehow stuff _both_ feet into his mouth if he’s not being careful. 

“Yes. No, no I don’t need help. I just—“ Dustin clears his throat frustratedly. He raises the mess of machinery, screws and bolts in his hands half-heartedly. “I just thought maybe we could hang out? Thought I could show you what I’m working on but— never mind, it’s stupid. I didn’t know you already had your friends coming over—“

“Dustin.” Steve interrupts, feeling his heart give a painful _squeeze_. Holy shit, this kid is gonna be the _death_ of him. He suddenly realises that kids like Dustin are probably used to being wary around kids like him, Tommy and Carol. It’s the same everywhere; middle school, high school. “ _Come in_ , dude. Don’t let these idiots bother you, they’re mostly just here to make out and force me to be their third-wheel.” 

He glares at Tommy and Carol, challenging them to say something about the fact that he just willingly agreed to hang out with an eight grader. 

Wisely, neither of them do. Tommy simply raises his shoulders and gestures for them to go on in. 

Dustin’s eyes light up. “Really? I mean— hell yeah, Steve, you gotta look at this— it’s remote-activated— or it _will_ be when I’m done rewiring the circuit board—“ And he’s off, rambling away while Steve nods at appropriate intervals, completely lost as to what he’s actually explaining as they all enter the house. 

Carol quirks at eyebrow at him, amused. 

Steve shrugs. _Kids,_ he conveys with a fond eye-roll. 

Later, they’re all in the kitchen trying to bake a casserole. Key word: _trying_ , because it’s mostly Carol barking orders at Tommy and Steve while the two of them cower and try to do everything she asks of them to avoid facing her wrath. 

“Tommy!” Carol huffs. “I said cut the carrots into _slices_ , not strips!” 

“Yeah, Tommy.” Dustin says gleefully from behind Carol. “No one cuts them into _strips_.” 

Tommy scowls, arms crossed. “I thought strips would be more fun.” 

“We’re baking this for _Steve_ , not for a children’s birthday party!” Carol retorts hotly. “Get your act together, Thomas!” 

_Ooh_ , _the full name_ , Steve thinks amusedly, looking up from where he’s carefully cutting the potatoes into slices— pointedly _not strips_. Tommy looks at him, pleading, but betrayal flashes across his face when he sees the not-strips on his cutting board. 

“ _Fine!”_ Tommy throws his hands up. “I will cut the rest of the carrots into boring _slices_ for you fucking non-believers.” Carol nods at him, curt and military-like. She walks over to supervise Dustin, who’s slicing potatoes next to Steve. Whenever she sees him cutting too close to his fingers, she takes over the knife and guides him on the right way to do it. 

Dustin scrunches his nose at her. Steve can practically hear him whining, like he’s done fifty times this afternoon, _I’m thirteen, not three!_ but he thinks he secretly enjoys the attention from an older, pretty girl. He grins. 

Carol’s always liked kids. He remembers long summer afternoons, him and Tommy looking at each other in despair as she forced them to play house with her. Sometimes Tommy was the husband, sometimes Steve. Most of the time they got Steve to play the kid. Or the dog, which he did _not_ enjoy. 

Seeing the soft tones she uses with Dustin and the gentle way she guides his hands to slice the potatoes into neat, even pieces, Steve thinks she probably doesn’t mind Dustin’s presence at all. 

Tommy, on the other hand, is still grumpy at the loss of attention from his girlfriend. Steve watches as he moodily cuts his carrots into slices, laughing silently. 

He thinks of the reason they’re baking the casserole in the first place: 

_You’re going back to living at your own place tomorrow. Your parents aren’t home, are they?_ Carol had asked, giving him one of her stern looks. _Are you going to eat anything besides shitty take-out and frozen pizza?  
_

Steve shrugged sheepishly, unable to find a truthful answer that would appease her.

_That’s it_. Carol declared. _We are baking you a casserole. It’s gonna be so freaking big it’ll fill you up for the whole week._

Steve smiles to himself, feeling fondness swell in him. He’d forgotten what it was like, to have friends who knew about him from the beginning. Back when his big, lonely house was just that— big and _lonely_. Not a place for him to throw parties, or a symbol of his wealth. Nancy knew his parents weren’t around much, sure, and the kids cared about him but they didn’t _know_ what the absence of his parents did to him.

(They used to do this often. Make huge freaking portions of food so that he’d have plenty to take home and have an easy meal waiting for him in the fridge, instead of take-out for the seventh time that week. Sometimes they’d show up at his door, forcing their way in for an impromptu sleepover, claiming they needed a _private place_ to _do their thing_ , pretending they weren’t there to check that he wasn’t feeling too alone. Sometimes he’d show up at Tommy’s and Carol would somehow appear some time past midnight, complaining about being left out.) 

He’s still barely scraping a B- in most classes, his girlfriend still left him, his social circle still comprises mainly of middle-schoolers and the knowledge that monsters exist will never disappear but—

He can’t be mad. Not in this moment, with Dustin screeching enthusiastically at him about their well-sliced potatoes and two of his best friends making a tentative return to his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! comments always appreciated but tbh not sure how the response's gonna be since like i said before, people who care about tommy and carol are like... 0 HAHAHA i'm not even sure why _i_ care but i just feel like i always wanted to see them more in the show. at least for steve to confront how he's changed and reconcile that with the two friends who only knew him before he developed as a person? 
> 
> next chapter we'll return to our regular scheduled program of billy being a (unknowingly) pining idiot. see ya then! updates from now will be every 5 days or so, since i started another fic and i'll have to divide my writing time between the two


	6. no words and no movements (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve:
> 
> billy: i love her lack of energy! go girl! give us nothing! 
> 
> billy is an idiot but i also love him and his trash ways. he’s so confused, intrigued, pissed off at and unknowingly turned on by steve in equal measure. tfw ure a deeply chaotic gay but also extremely repressed by your father’s homophobia, am i right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just love writing steve being a little shit. he's such a dramatic brat tbh, did you hear him complaining about the Russians' fire safety in s3? i love writing him getting more comfortable with giving billy shit and billy being like 'wtf is this, why is he not afraid of me' 
> 
> also, didn't mean to do it, but i had to slip some tommy & carol in here. why do i love the two characters that show up on every 'buzzfeed's top 10 worst stranger things characters' lists, you ask? i have no fucking clue but just take it. they're going to appear even more in the next chapter :)

“Why are you in my seat?” 

Billy looks up, a saccharine grin already locked in place. “We were told to sit with our partners this week, _partner_. So it’s really _our_ seat right now.” 

Steve Harrington, dressed in a green polo tee and clutching an expensive-looking black corduroy jacket, glares down at him, unimpressed. _Always dressed like his Mommy’s high-end shopping sprees in New York or wherever the fuck_ , Billy sneers. 

He drags a chair over anyway. 

“Dick.” Steve murmurs, the sound of it barely audible above the screech of metal against the tiled floor. “Why’d you partner with me anyway?” 

Billy shrugs, taking his time to formulate an answer that doesn’t involve the part where Mrs Donovan had noticed his lack of a partner and made the decision for them. “Ice Queen didn’t pick you, so I thought I’d be a little charitable and help you out.” 

“Ice Qu— _oh_.” Steve’s mouth twists. “Nancy, you mean. You know, everyone here _does_ have a name. You could use them, once in a while.”

“Yes, yes, the frigid bitch.” Billy drones, bored. It’s always boring when Harrington’s talking about Wheeler. He doesn’t get it— why Harrington always feels the need to, like, _defend her honour_ or some shit. It’s not like he has a chance at getting her back in his bed. He’s surprised he even managed to get her _in_ it the first place— she looks like the type who’s all coy and fucking _zero_ put-out. At least until marriage and the nice house with a white-picket fence at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Then again, maybe he was called King Steve for a _reason_. 

“You got a problem with my nicknames, _King Steve_?” Billy leans back in Steve’s chair lazily, stretching out his chest like a cat in the sun. He knows how the pose makes him look: powerful, dismissive, _predatory_. “Because I like giving people nicknames. Maybe it’s just because I’m such a _friendly_ guy. But you like my nicknames for you, don’t you _princess_?” 

Steve stares for a moment. He sees him swallow, once, but his dark brown eyes are unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is cool, near dismissive. “It’s Steve, man. My name is _one syllable long_. It’s not that hard.” 

Billy sighs quietly, hauling himself forward so that the chair, that had been leaning on its two back legs, lands back on all four legs with a metallic _clang._ So it’s gonna be one of _those_ days. The Steve with no fire, no _spark_. _Boring_. 

Right on cue, class starts. Billy draws his attention forward, actually paying attention for once in English. He hadn’t wanted to be partnered with the guy for the project, but he figured that if he _had_ to do it, he’d at least get some entertainment out of it. But Harrington’s no fun right now— Billy learned early in life that poking a stick at a dead bird was pointless; and most of the time, depressing. 

As it turns out, the semester-long project is actually just going to be graded on a end-of-semester presentation on one key theme and class participation. It should be a _breeze. Except_ the project isn’t just graded individually, it’s also graded on them as a _group_ and if there’s one thing Harrington was known for before Billy came by besides being a star athlete— 

He eyes the way Harrington’s eyes zone out of focus, before he shakes his head like a _dog_ shaking off water and determinedly, _futilely_ tries to pay attention. 

—it was being _absolute dogshit_ at studying.

Which means he’s going to have to find some way to clobber Steve into understanding Golding’s writing about the thematic significance of events in _Lord of the Flies_ by the end of the semester, or he’s going to drag Billy to the muddy depths of a terrible grade in English with him. 

No ‘A’ means no acceptance letters from colleges out-of-state for Billy. And no college means no golden ticket out of Hawkins. Because there’s no way in hell Neil’s going to let him off the hook unless he leaves with the promise of a college degree that will earn him a good job and good money, so he isn’t ‘ _that fucking huge of an embarrassment to the Hargrove name’._

_Fuck_.

“So. What theme should we pick?” Billy asks bluntly, once Mrs Donovan leaves the rest of class time for discussion. 

He sees Steve blink, twice in succession. He looks a little thrown off by the sudden normalcy of that question. Billy knows the feeling— he’s not feeling particularly comfortable with the idea of getting all buddy-buddy with Harrington either. But he needs the grade and considering the miserable C, wavering on D, that Harrington’s pulling in this class, he probably needs it too.

When Steve still doesn’t reply, Billy sighs, dragging his copy of the book closer. “I already did this book for a semester in California so I know my shit. There’s the theme of savagery, order versus chaos, evil—“ 

“Whoa, whoa, _evil_?” Steve finally speaks, jerking his head to the side. He looks like a confused parrot, Billy thinks. _Idiot_. “Why’s there a theme about _evil?_ I thought this book was about kids stranded on a island and throwing parties, like— _Coral Island,_ or something.” 

If Steve doesn’t stop talking _right now_ , Billy thinks he might throw the book at his head in despair. Honestly, at this point, he’s surprised Steve even knows what Coral Island _is._ “Did you even read the book? You knew we were covering in class this week right?” 

“No.” Steve scowls. “Because someone _gave me head trauma last week_.” 

It’s the first time Steve’s explicitly brought up that night at the Byers in front of him. Billy’s been waiting, aching for him to just _say something_ since Monday, but the way the heaviness of that statement hangs between them now, like something rotting in the air, makes Billy feel uncomfortable, twitchy. 

Immediately after, of course, comes the anger. Billy lets the familiar tide smooth over the odd, prickly feeling and makes sure he shows it in the tightening of his jaw, the unsubtle clenching of his fists. “It was on the _summer_ reading list.” 

Whether he’d beat Steve up or not, there was no excuse for not reading a book that was assigned to them _months_ ago. 

Steve seems to realise this too. He looks away, mouth pressed in a firm, mutinous line. Billy watches as his jaw clenches, then unclenches, then clenches again. 

Quietly, so quietly Billy barely hears him over the usual din of the classroom, Steve says: “I tried.” 

“What?” Billy says, more out of surprise that Steve had actually answered than anything. 

Irritation flashes in his eyes as Steve turns back to him. Louder, he says, “I tried, okay? I started reading it but, I don’t know, couldn’t get past the first few pages.” 

“So, what, you’re bad at reading?” 

“Jesus.” Steve huffs, sounding almost disbelieving. “Look, I know I’m an idiot, okay? I don’t need _you_ to spell it out for me. It’s just— when I’m reading, the words get all jumbled up and it makes it a huge pain to try, okay? Gives me a fucking headache.” 

Billy reacts slow, still trying to wrap his head around what Harrington’s actually trying to tell him here. “Shit, Harrington.” He breathes. “Are you trying to tell me you’re _dyslexic_?” 

Immediately, the expression on Steve’s face closes off. Billy wonders if it was the wrong thing to say. But curiously, his eyes are still tracking Billy’s, carefully watching his response. 

“Don’t know.” Steve says finally. “Never been tested. Dad didn’t— never mind.” 

Well, fuck. Billy doesn’t like Harrington— he pisses him off as much as he intrigues him, with the way he has everything up in his rich boy mansion yet acts like a sad-sack with _nothing_ — but the implications of what he said… Well, maybe parents are shit _everywhere_. 

“I wasn’t calling you an idiot, you know, I meant what I said.” Billy says, in a carefully conversational tone, as bored as he can make it. “I know you’re decent at Trig and Physics. If you’re bad at reading, you’re just _bad at reading_. It’s fine.” 

Billy’s suddenly aware of how _close_ Steve is. He’d been leaning in, ever-so-slightly, as if actually drawn in by _listening_ to Billy’s words. There’s an unfamiliar expression on his face: contemplative, or— or, _hungry_. 

It’s the first time they’ve interacted without any clear antagonism on any side. The novelty of it momentarily distracts Billy. He finds himself staring as the sunlight streaming in from the windows catches Harrington’s bright, brown eyes _just right_ , turning them honeyed— _golden_ —

_He realises what’s happening_.

Billy’s throat seizes up. When he finds his voice again, it’s rougher, clipped. 

“It’s fine, Harrington. I don’t care.” He leans back, hands behind his head, eyes flicking to the ceiling. He makes a show of it. “Just make sure your _problem_ doesn’t land us with a shitty grade in this class, alright?” 

The effect is immediate. Steve snaps back, jerking away like he’s been _burned._

But Billy doesn’t regret it. He _can’t._

“Well, okay. Fine, then.” Steve mutters. His eyes are downcast, darkened. They look dulled in the artificial light of the classroom, the colour of earth after torrential rain. Billy swallows uncomfortably. The prickly, uncomfortable feeling has returned like the tide, sweeping over him. 

“I’d read it to you, if you like. And explain the themes.” _What?_ The words tumble out of his mouth before he even registers he’s saying them. Hastily, he adds: “Not all of it, though. I’m not your fucking mommy reading you bedtime stories. It’s just— it can’t just be me. You’ve gotta understand it too, or she’ll fail us both.” 

Billy chances a look at Steve. His eyes are wide and _luminous_ now, cautious, guarded but still desperately _, painfully_ hopeful. He never had a chance concealing it— those stupid Bambi eyes are too wide, too expressive. 

His throat closes up again. 

“You serious, man?” Steve asks, giving him a searching look. 

Billy nods mutely, just once.

“Shit, yeah.” Steve breathes. “That could work. Then—” Just like that, the weird _moment_ between them breaks. “Could you explain the _evil_ theme, please? Because I really don’t see how that fits in here.” 

Billy huffs out something close to a laugh. Rolling his eyes, he cracks open his copy of the book. He doesn’t need _tabs_ and _cutesy post-its_ like Little Miss Perfect over there. He knows exactly where the section he’s looking for is. 

“Did you know,” He begins conversationally. “One of the boys was eaten in this book? By his friends?”

“ _What?_ ” Steve’s eyes blow wide, clearly taken aback. Billy preens a little at the reaction. 

Continuing, he says, “It’s crazy shit. They sing and dance around him like a crazy fucking ritual before they tear him apart. Want me to read this bit?” 

Steve nods. And he listens, as Billy reads the whole chapter, enraptured. Billy’s never read to anyone before— definitely not _Max_ , because she’s a fucking _brat_ — but it’s kind of nice. Hearing his voice aloud actually helps him process the book better and better than that, he can feel the entirety of Steve’s attention focused on _him_ , over every word. 

When he finishes the chapter, Steve leans back. “Damn,” he whispers. 

“Yup. So all the boys in this book, they’re afraid because they believe that there’s a beast on the island—”

“Is there?” Steve interrupts. 

Billy frowns slightly. “It’s not really important to the theme—”

But Steve is weirdly persistent about this, latching on to this one specific point. “But is there a beast? Like a monster-thing on the island?” 

Billy lets the air out through his nose. “No. The point of the book is that there _aren’t_ any monsters. The boys were scared because, well, for one— they’re a bunch of _wussies_ afraid of the dark and because— they could sense evil on the island too. Only the evil was _themselves_.” 

Steve studies him for a moment. Then snorts, as if Billy’s just said something incredibly funny without even being in on the joke. 

“So, what? The message of the book is that monsters aren’t real and people are bad?” Steve grins, amusement still crinkling the corners of his eyes at his own private joke. “ _Yeah right._ That’s a fucking stupid moral of the story.”

“Hey,” Billy says, affronted. _Lord of the Flies_ is a book he _actually_ kind of liked reading in California. The message that yeah, monsters were real, and they existed in _people_ — it stuck with him. 

Steve holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, still smiling faintly. 

Billy squints at him. “You’re kind of a _weirdo_ , you know that, Harrington? And how about you let me read you the rest of the book before you make snap judgements, huh?” 

Steve shrugs. “Sure. Then proceed, teach.” 

They carry on like that for a while, ‘till the bell rings, signalling the end of class. Billy opts to start reading from the beginning this time, even though Steve protests that he’s read the first few pages already. He finds that Steve is surprisingly quick at grasping the character relations, themes and general concepts in the book, often interjecting with his opinion as Billy’s reading to him.

But as soon as the bell rings, the tentatively amicable mood between them evaporates. The shrill sound shatters the almost-peaceful atmosphere that had unconsciously grown between them. It’s almost like he can actually _see_ the walls going back up over Steve’s face. 

“Steve!” Nancy’s at his side almost immediately. Billy scowls. She’s eyeing the two of them warily, seemingly surprised that there’s been no bloodshed on either side yet. She turns to pat Steve on the shoulder apologetically, mouth pursed worriedly. “Hey, Steve. I know we said we’d eat lunch together today but um. I have a test— it’s Chemistry with Kaminsky and you know how his tests are— I’m so sorry, I totally forgot about it and—”

“You’ve gotta study?” Steve says neutrally, quirking an eyebrow. “In the library with Jonathan?” 

“Yes um—” Nancy bites her lip, guilt assuaging her features, making them even more pinched than usual. “I’m really sorry, Steve—”

“Nance.” Steve says, reassuring smile spreading over his face. Billy sees some of what must be that old _King Steve_ charm in it. It warms his face, makes it soft and charming, features light and without a care in the world. “It’s fine, really. Study for Kaminsky. That guy has a stick ten metres long in his ass.”  
  
But the warmth doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Thanks, Steve.” Nancy says, with real gratitude shining in her eyes. Billy wants to scoff. It’s like she thinks she’s blowing off her _job_ escorting Steve everywhere. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, _promise—”_

“Hey.” Billy interjects smoothly, subtly positioning his body such that it partially covers Steve’s from Nancy. “Take a hint, will ya? _Stevie_ here doesn’t need his mother to feed him lunch and walk him to every class. If you gotta ditch, just ditch. Don’t waste everyone’s time with your sob story.” 

Nancy narrows her eyes to slits, features severe. “This is a private conversation, Billy.” 

_Un-fucking-believable. The_ prissiness _of this girl—_

“Then maybe next time, don’t have it while someone’s sitting at the desk next to you…” Billy smiles at her, sugary-sweet.

Steve sighs. “We weren’t exactly bothering to whisper, Nance.” 

She whirls on him, indignant fury twisting her mouth. Steve, wisely, takes an instinctive step back. “You’re taking _his_ side?”

“Whoa. There aren’t _sides_ here.” Steve says, eyes wide. His gaze darts to the door, which _shit,_ Billy _relates_. “Well, if we’re not eating together, I’m going to head out to my locker to grab my lunch, okay? Bye.” 

Billy watches him leave with some satisfaction as Nancy frowns crossly. Then, he quickly heads out as well, hopefully to catch Steve at his locker. This is something he _has_ to know. 

*

“Harrington.” Billy slides up against his locker, tongue flicking against his teeth. “You’ve gotta tell me— what’s the deal with you and Wheeler, man? Didn’t she leave you for Byers?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve says neutrally, taking his time to store the books in his locker. _Of course_ , he’s one of those pricks who thinks he’s too cool to carry a _backpack_ around school. Steve Harrington wouldn’t even be caught _dead_ with a satchel. 

“C’mon, why’s she walking you everywhere? And man, _everyone_ has seen you three having your little lunch dates in the cafeteria.” Billy persists. When Steve doesn’t respond, he leans over him, bigger and more imposing, making his tone as crass as possible, hoping to get a rise. “Is it true that Wheeler’s just showing off the bitches she’s got on a leash? Or is the rumour that you’re all into dirty, kinky little threesomes the one that’s true?” He lets his tongue run over his bottom lip, taunting. 

“Yup.” Steve says flatly. “I rent a motel room every Tuesday night and they come over. We play ABBA to really get in the mood and take turns doing it.”

_Jesus Christ_ , it’s like throwing stones at a brick wall. Billy changes tactic. “Why are you hanging around them anyway? I mean, they can’t actually be your only friends here.”

“Can’t they?” Steve says, like it’s a _comeback_ , a _brag_. Billy wonders how he can think that it doesn’t sound pathetic. “They’re the only people I’m interested in talking to here.” 

“Oh _Christ_.” Billy says. “You’ve caught Byers’ snobbery, is that it? The whole lone wolf, I’m-too-cool-for-you-because-I- _read_ schtick? Yeah, newsflash, that’s just the shit he tells himself to cope with how no one can stand being near him because he’s so _weird_.”

This earns him a pause. Steve looks at him, unusually contemplative. “What are you actually trying to do here, Hargrove?” 

Encouraged, Billy continues. “You don’t need to hang around Byers, man. You were cool once, right? Heard all about your mansion on Loch Nora, all the parties you had. Byers is weird, his whole family is weird, his hair looks like it’s never seen product in its _life_ and he’s so fucking poor, his clothes look like they were given to him by his dad in the _forties_.” 

Right on cue, he hears Tommy come up from behind him. 

“Hargrove, man! Lunch in the cafeteria.” Tommy claps a hand on his shoulder, then notices Steve. They lock eyes, neither of them moving. Billy suddenly feels _itchy_ — something’s off between the two of them. 

“Harrington.” Unexpectedly, Tommy speaks first.

“Tommy.” Steve inclines his head, a nod of acknowledgement. More easily, he turns to Tommy’s shadow, who’d been two steps behind. “Hey, Carol.” 

“Hi. What are you all talking about?” Carol smacks her gum by way of greeting. 

Steve says “Nothing” the same time as Billy says “Jonathan fucking Byers”. Carol lights up at that, like she does every time there’s an opportunity to slip some juicy piece of gossip into a conversation. 

“Ooh, did you know he beat Steve up too? It was last year.” Carol says. Which, _wow_ , Billy did not know that. Jesus Christ, Harrington _really_ can’t fight to save his life if he’s losing to _Jonathan-I’ve-never-touched-a-dumbbell—in-my-life-Byers_. 

Undeterred, Billy continues. “See, Harrington? You don’t have to stoop to _that_ level man. You may be a bitch, but you’re not a _loser_ , are you? I mean,” he pauses as if considering it, very seriously. “You could sit with _us_ , if you really wanted.” 

Tommy and Carol go still at that. Billy thinks Tommy might be mad he didn’t ask first before inviting his ex-best-friend to sit with them but, hey, Billy doesn’t answer to _Tommy H._ He should know that by now. 

Steve smiles politely. Billy bets he pulls that smile out of his ass at all of his dad’s fancy, important company dinners. He can picture it— Steve in a pressed grey suit, hair impeccably styled and sporting that smile. Holding himself with confidence, the smile saying _relaxed_ , but stiff at the corners. 

“As, uh, _appealing_ as that sounds,” he says, taking a container out of his locker, presumably containing his lunch. Looks like some kind of casserole? “I’m going to have to pass.”  
  
“Oh, okay. But you know you went from an arrogant prick with the school at your heels, to an arrogant prick with _no friends_ , right?” Billy scoffs. He looms, glaring down at Steve. Steve looks back, dark brown eyes unreadable. “I’m not this generous often. You might want to reconsider my offer.”

“Hey,” Tommy breaks into the stare-down, uncertainly. Carol hovers at his shoulder, vaguely worried. “We should get going soon, man. Cafeteria’s going to run out of chicken if we take any longer to get there.” 

When Billy looks away from him and turns back to Steve, he’s slightly startled to find that Steve has shut his locker and is now looking down at him coolly. He’s standing tall now, though his back is still slightly slouched and his shoulders are relaxed. Nothing like that way Neil always said a man should stand— _shoulders back, chest out and back straight._ Military. 

Still, there’s something undeniably intimidating about the way he’s being stared down now, dark glittering eyes not even _disguising_ the fact that they’re assessing him. Steve’s only got an inch or two above him, but it’s never felt like _so much_. Billy’s not used to having to look up at _anyone_.

“Well.” Steve breaks his brief moment of actual intimidation by adjusting his jacket, smoothing down the collar. “Looks like you’ve got something else in common with Jonathan after all.”

“And what is that?” Billy says, intently tracking the movement of Steve’s hands as he runs his fingers over the collar. Privately, he readies himself to grab Steve’s hair and _slam_ him into the locker if he even _insinuates_ that Metallica is _anything_ like Byers’ limpdick punk rock bands. 

Steve casts a meaningful look towards Tommy and Carol.

“Hand-me-downs.” 

Billy reels back in shock, unintentionally giving the space Steve needs to shove his way past and move down the hallway, long legs carrying him quickly away from Billy and his former friends. Billy chokes out a sound that is almost a disbelieving laugh, can hardly believe he’d _dare_. Tommy’s gone red, freckles covered by his flush. Carol’s got a hand to her mouth, but behind it is a strange expression on her face that Billy can’t read. 

Whatever. His attention is zeroed in on Harrington anyway, who’s suddenly decided to turn around and call out to them, paying no heed to the heads that are turning his way at this strange exchange.

“And the short answer’s _no_ , dickhead.” Steve calls out. “ _Take a hint_ , will ya?”

He’s moving off before Billy can even _think_ of anything to say but he’s not angry about it. He feels the corners of his lips curve up into a wide grin— the kind that he never showed to girls he’d wanted to charm because it looks too _manic_ to be charming. 

He’d _gotten_ to Harrington. He could see it. 

And the _balls_ it’d taken Harrington to say that shit, not only to his face but to Tommy’s and Carol’s— shit, Billy’s got to give credit where it’s due. 

He laughs loudly, slinging an arm around Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy looks at the arm, then up at him, puzzled by his good mood. He’s not obligated to explain though, he never is, so Tommy simply lets him steer him and Carol in the direction of the cafeteria. 

Billy sees the image of Steve giving him his full attention, enraptured as he reads and later, the way he’d stared down at Billy with those dark brown, _annoyed_ , _honeyed_ eyes, no give in them to Billy’s pushing— he lets it wash over him.

He doesn’t hear anything Tommy and Carol say, all the way to the cafeteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i don't hate nancy ahahaha. i actually love her but from billy's perspective she's just a bitch so I can't help writing her that way. 
> 
> i didn't need to make steve dyslexic but somehow, it just felt right for his character. i have a pet peeve for fics that dumb him down bc in the show, he's actually shown to be quite quick on his feet and emotionally intelligent - he's just not great at studying or reading. ALSO what an opportunity to characterise his father as an even bigger asshole than he is in canon! making a child go undiagnosed for his own pride and prestige seems right in line for his character so :) 
> 
> hope u guys enjoyed! see u around next time


End file.
